


Take Me Home

by madandimpossible, tinybluewitch (madandimpossible)



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Clyde Logan is a Good Boyfriend, Clyde Logan is a Sweetheart, Dom Clyde Logan, Drama & Romance, Earn Your Happy Ending, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Female Friendship, Fluff and Angst, Light Dom/sub, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Second Person, Reader is an FBI Agent, Secrets, Slow Burn, Southern Gentleman Clyde Logan, Strangers to Lovers, Vaginal Sex, takes place after the movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:02:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 62,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24375481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madandimpossible/pseuds/madandimpossible, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madandimpossible/pseuds/tinybluewitch
Summary: Agent Sarah Grayson asked you to take her place in her off-the-books investigation of the Logan family. She trusts you to find the truth and bring the Logan family to justice. She gives you three rules to follow: Don't get attached, keep it simple, and know when to bail.The longer you spend in West Virginia and the longer you spend with a specific quiet, well-mannered bartender by the name of Clyde - the harder it becomes to follow those rules.
Relationships: Clyde Logan & Reader, Clyde Logan & You, Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You, Sylvia Harrison/Jimmy Logan
Comments: 127
Kudos: 195





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm over half-way finished typing this fic but I wanted to post it because ...I crave validation LOL. Also, writing in 2nd person is so therapeutic and I love Clyde so MUCH. I dedicate this fic to my bible study group <3 Love you guys!

* * *

You were, _for a time_ , Special Agent Sarah Grayson’s protégé. You followed her every case, you poured over files until your neck went stiff and your eyes went sore, and it didn’t matter if it was overtime or double-time or a _holiday_. This work was your life. You rode every high and low, from dead ends to successful arrests and victorious justice, you followed each and every twist and turn as you tracked down the white-collar crime, murderers, and missing children.

You could find your way through the archives with your eyes closed. You brought case files home and stayed up late, letting your coffee turn cold, and falling asleep on the worn-out cushions of your couch.

Then, the “Ocean’s 7-Eleven” happened.

It was six months of no _real_ leads. Just Sarah and her hunch. She was alike a damn bloodhound. The Bureau put up with it…for a while. But, soon, they had other cases – **live** ones, with leads and witnesses and flimsy alibis. The Bureau couldn’t justify spending more time and money on the case of the Hillbilly Heist. They preferred to wash their hands of the whole thing and let it fade into obscurity. After all, the stadium settled with their insurance. There was no work to be done.

Your mentor, friend, and boss took a leave of absence shortly after. Everyone figured she had just been overwhelmed with stress and frustrated by her supervisor’s order to cease investigation.

They were only _partly_ right.

Agent Sarah Grayson _was_ stressed. But she was also determined to prove her theory correct. That the suspects – Clyde and Jimmy Logan, along with their associates: The Bang brothers had orchestrated this heist.

Eventually, though, Sarah’s vacation time drained up and you received a phone call at 5:05am.

You were in the car by 7:00.

You slammed the trunk of your rickety car, shifting your overnight bag over your sweaty shoulder. The humid heat of the countryside was sticking to the back of your thighs, under your arms, and between your breasts. You looked up and grimaced at the motel that would serve as your home while you got settled. The neon sign was flickering between “VACANCY” AND “NO VACANCY.”

Above the sounds of buzzing insects, you could hear a dog barking in the distance.

Sarah leaned against the snack machine by the lobby and your heart leapt at the sight of her – she looked… _better?_ The past three months had warmed her skin and lightened her hair. There was a relaxed nature to her pose, her arms folded across her chest, her body covered in a flowy summer dress. You had never seen her outside her pressed and ironed pantsuit. Hell, you had never seen her with her hair down.

“Wow.” Your eyebrows raised. An easy smile spread across your lips.

“Don’t get used to it. I’ll be back to button-ups and blazers by tomorrow.” She opened her arms and enveloped you in a hug. She pressed her face to the side of your head and whispered, “Thank you for doing this. You’re the only one I can trust.”

Sarah pulled away, holding you at arm’s length with a bright smile, “Gosh, look at you.”

“Yeah.” You looked down at your sneakers and gym shorts, “I’m quite the sight.”

Sarah chuckled, pulling an arm around your shoulders, and leading you to your room. On your walk, she asked you about the drive, about your family, just small talk that you had grown used to over the past year and a half of working together. It felt normal but at the same time… _forced_. Like she didn’t trust the other strangers in the motel and couldn’t be certain that she wasn’t being watched. You watched your words, playing into her lead of being careful, and glanced her expression with every few steps. The slight lift of her eyebrow was your only clue that she noticed you catching on.

Once safe behind closed doors, her smile fell, but her posture was still relaxed.

“This is everything I have.” She said, pulling a necklace with a silver circular pendant from her purse. You watched as she slid her thumbnail into a slot and revealed the USB stick. “Guard it with your life.”

You looked down at the pendant. It was nothing special. The motif etched on the front was of some flowers, and it read ‘Mother’ in cursive font. You brought it over your head and tucked it underneath your shirt.

“Is that my cover story?” You asked, “I’m your daughter?”

Sarah scoffed, “No. It’s better if our connection to each other is…flexible.” She lowered herself onto the bed, watching with keen eyes as you started putting away your things. “I think some of the locals were getting suspicious. So, it’s all the better that they offered me that promotion.”

“That promotion was just incentive for you to return.” You responded while arranging your toiletries on the small bathroom counter.

She didn’t deny it.

“If anyone asks, you can say I’m a friend and nothing more. And I had to return home to take care of my sick grandma.”

“Original.” You shook your head, propping your shoulder against the bathroom doorframe. “I will be starting from scratch though. I won’t have anyone’s trust.”

Sarah leaned back on her palms, appraising you, “They’ll like you.”

“What makes you say that?” You asked. Sarah had been here three months with no new leads and no closer to the truth she so desperately believed.

“Because, you’re _kind_. They appreciate that around here.” Sarah patted the spot next to her, “Now, get out your laptop and let me go over my notes with you.”

It took two hours.

You were already familiar with the case, so everything Sarah had collected had been her personal notes and information on her suspects.

She believed the following: Jimmy Logan was the brains behind it all and her main suspect. Jimmy had motive, opportunity, and means. Clyde, she reasoned, was a follower not a leader. It was likely that Jimmy roped his brother into the heist. Clyde’s military files were classified, and she couldn’t access them. Despite her best efforts, Clyde was tight-lipped about his service to his country and just about everything else. All she knew for certain was that Clyde served two tours in Iraq and lost his hand. Clyde, she said, was a dead-end. If you are going to focus on either of the brothers, then focus on Jimmy.

She had the most headway with Joe Bang. She explained he was ‘all southern charm’ and ‘flirty disposition’. She recommended trying to get close to him because you were younger and therefore, Joe Bang might be more inclined to open up to you.

“Don’t be afraid to flirt.” She said, flipping through the dossier page of the Bang Brothers photos. Your brow pinched together as you looked at them. Joe Bang was older, had a rugged type of look to him, but was _so far_ from your type. You liked to think you were pretty good at acting. This wasn’t your first undercover sting. But you weren’t sure if you could manage to try and seduce that guy for information. Your eyes glanced back to the Logan Brothers.

Jimmy Logan was known to associate himself with Sylvia Harrison. He kept regular contact with his ex, Bobbie Jo, and had joint custody of his daughter – Sadie Logan. Jimmy was handsome, you figured, in a conventional type of way. He had a strong jaw, blue eyes, and broad shoulders. If he cleaned up, shaved , then he wouldn’t look half-bad.

Clyde Logan, on the other hand, was entirely too severe looking to justify being called ‘ _handsome’_. He had a large nose and ears, a mop of dark hair that reached his shoulders and doleful eyes. His only known associates were his family. No known girlfriends or ex-wives. Or anyone, really. Something about that felt a little…sad. You shook aside the feeling.

Now was not the time to feel sympathy for criminals.

Sarah looked at her slim wristwatch, “Alright, I’ve got a plane to catch. You’ve got my number. Call me if you need anything, okay?”

“Okay.” You stood as she did and gave her one last hug.

It was bittersweet to see her again after three months only to say goodbye after a mere two hours. You promised to keep in touch and to play it safe.

“Remember the rules.” She said, squeezing your shoulders before she left. The motel door surged an influx of humid air as it opened and then closed. You stared at the teal-paint and sighed, slumping your shoulders, and looked at the notepad on the bed.

On it, in neat looping cursive, was the following:

  1. Don’t get attached
  2. Keep it simple
  3. Know when to bail



You looked at the small makeup bag on the counter. Clyde Logan’s bar wouldn’t be open for a few more hours. You figured you better shower, get changed, and get some groceries. You weren’t about to live off Snickers and Soda Pop for the next few days.

If you were lucky, you’d find an easy job, and then find a place to stay that had a kitchen. You had enough time on the books to get you through the summer and into the winter. Hopefully, by then, you’d have some closure – for Sarah’s sake – on the Ocean’s 7-Eleven Case. Maybe, if you were really, really lucky, you’d even have an arrest.

That might just be wishful thinking, though.

You combed through your wet hair. _The Duck Tape_ opened in an hour.

You let out a big, deep exhale.

_You could do this._


	2. Chapter 2

* * *

You ignored the concerning rattling of your car as you drove to the Duck Tape bar. There was a chance, based on Sarah’s notes, that _only_ Clyde would be there. But it was more likely that Jimmy would come through after work. She couldn’t understand why the man still accepted jobs when he had millions of dollars stashed somewhere.

You, however, understood. Sometimes, when you’re so used to moving – staying still is a completely foreign and uncomfortable sensation. You weren’t the type to sit on your hands. You preferred action.

Elvis Presley was crooning through the jukebox when you entered. There was the sound of two different TVs playing different sport games, the clack of billiard balls as two men squared off in pool, and the whiskey-warm drawl of the bartender as he greeted you.

His voice sent a pleasurable chill down to your toes. You slid into the barstool with a slow, careful smile. Clyde just looked at you.

“What’ll it be?”

You thought about it. You needed a clear head. _Rule Number 2: Keep it simple_.

“Gin and tonic.” You could nurse that over a few hours.

This man was _impossibly_ large, you mused, watching as he moved behind the bar. You _knew_ his height. You read his file. There was just something different about seeing it all up close. He was wider than his brother, Jimmy. You could see the shift of muscles in his biceps as he moved. He looked – in a word – _solid_.

Did Agent Grayson ever feel intimidated by him? You thought back to her notes. Unlikely. She wrote him off as a dead-end. You glanced around the bar. No one else was here. You didn’t feel like mingling with the two men, who were nursing beer bottles, their t-shirts stained and strained across their stomachs.

His large hand wrapped around the glass. His lower lip jutting out ever-so-slightly in a pout. You watched, perhaps a little mesmerized, and impressed, by the way he deftly poured and handled the drink between his hands – one prosthetic, one not. You toyed with the foam coaster between your fingers. The jukebox changed songs and Frank Sinatra began to play. Not _exactly_ the mood you suspected for a watering hole like this.

The front door opened, two women in animal-print miniskirts came in, and fluttered their eyelashes at Clyde. He didn’t seem to notice. He just greeted them the same way he had greeted you. A gruff, polite ‘ _evenin’”_

“Here ya go.” Clyde said, setting the drink in front of you. “I’ve never seen you here before. You passin’ through or stayin’ a while.”

“Staying.” You said, lifting the glass to your lips with a little shrug. The alcohol tingled your lips and tongue. “Not sure for how long yet.”

His attention was pulled away as the two women sat down. You poked at the ice cubes in your drink with the tiny red stirrer. If he came back…you needed to get him talking. _You_ needed to talk. Make a connection, Sarah had told you. Form a bond. You drank a little more and looked down at the small blue cornflower floral print on your blouse. You had picked it because it was comfortable and showed just a _peak_ of cleavage. But, compared to the two women who had waltzed in with their zebra skirts and tight tops – you felt like maybe you missed a mark. Maybe you should’ve dressed a little more…sexy? What classified as _sexy_ around here? Cowboy boots and jean-shorts? You nibbled on your lower lip. This was already outside your comfort zone. You dressed _professional_ to work. No such thing as business casual. Just business.

You were in a field dominated by men and you needed to be taken seriously. An unfortunate side-effect of that desire was that you needed to mute your own femininity. If you looked _too pretty_ then people started rumors about you sleeping your way into your position. Yet, if you _didn’t_ take care of your appearance, then people started rumors about laziness and work ethic – as if whether or not you wore foundation that day correlated to your arrest record. Your gaze dropped past your jeans and to your sneakers. Had you made a misjudgment there, too? Should you have worn your heels?

“Why here?” Clyde’s voice caused your head to jerk up.

“Oh.” You swallowed, flustered that you were so lost in thought that you didn’t even see him – the _mammoth_ of a man – moving back toward you.

“It’s quiet.” You met his eyes. The picture didn’t do them justice. In the photo, Clyde’s eyes look almost black. But in the light of the bar, you can tell that they’re warmer – touched with honeyed brown and framed by dark lashes. The moles across his face trail down into the collar of his shirt.

“I’m – uh – writing a story.” You manage to get out, letting your attention fall back to your glass, “It’s a mystery novel based in West Virginia and…I don’t know…I hoped being here would spark inspiration.”

The _‘I’m a writer’_ backstory would help when it came to getting information and carrying a notebook around with you. You had already come up with codenames for each of your suspects. So, if on the off chance someone got ahold of your journal, it really would look just like someone trying to put together a novel.

Also, once upon a time, before the FBI academy and college, you dreamed of someday writing a book.

Sarah said every lie must have a sprinkle of truth.

“Mystery, huh?” It sounds like there’s a smile in his voice. You can’t bring yourself to look up. Your heart is hammering in your ribcage as the reality of what you’re doing is finally starts to settle in. You’re going to investigate this man and his family. He’s a target and you’re the hunter. You were _really_ doing this.

“Yeah.” Your sneaker scuffed against the lower bar on the stool. You needed to keep talking. You _needed_ to get him to talk, too.

“I know it sounds dumb. City girl moves all the way out here just for a novel that won’t even sell at the airport.” You let some of your genuine concern for failing this mission and failing Sarah seep into your posture and voice. Your shoulders drooped a fraction. Maybe you were laying it on too thick? Maybe Clyde would see right through you and throw you out?

“It’s not dumb.” You lift your eyes to see that Clyde is twisting a rag into a glass, drying it, “I ain’t a writer, but I like to read. I’m sure, if you came out all this way just to find inspiration, that your book will be damn good.”

 _That_ was surprising. You searched face and couldn’t trace any deception on his features. His honesty was… _refreshing_.

“What do you like to read?” You found yourself asking.

“All sorts.” He set the glass down and grabbed another, “What’s your book gonna be about?”

“Well,” You took another sip of your drink, noticing the way the other women were looking at you and Clyde’s back. Jealousy written all over their faces. Clyde didn’t seem to notice. His dark gaze was on you and only you. You shifted in your barstool.

“It’s about this rich family whose father passes away. At first it seems like a suicide so they’re all fighting over inheritance and whatnot, but then this private detective strolls in, saying he was hired by an anonymous party, and he’s gonna get to the bottom of it because he suspects it was foul play.”

You twirled the stirrer once more, “I’m still figuring out the details. The characters and stuff. You must see all sorts here working at a bar.”

“I do.” He nodded a little.

“Anyone novel worthy?” You leaned forward a bit, letting your arms rest on the bar and discovering and appreciating that it wasn’t sticky.

His plush lips curl into something of a smile. It’s close-lipped and doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s something. You wondered if Agent Grayson ever got this close. You wondered if this was progress. You wondered why the _hell_ your stomach fluttered.

The door opened, and Clyde’s eyes track the newcomer - “There’s one.” He said and you turn, halfway, to see Joe Bang entering the bar. His eyes are sharp, cool blue and he’s all dark colors – dark jeans, dark silk top, and dark boots. He grinned upon seeing Clyde. Then grinned wider when he saw you.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He slid into the barstool beside you. “Clyde, who’s this?”

You spare a brief glance at Clyde and he looked…bashful. Your stomach did another weird flutter. “I haven’t asked yet.” He said.

Quick to ease any awkwardness, you introduce yourself, and Joe grabbed your hand and brushed his lips against your knuckles. In doing so, you noticed his flashy, expensive silver watch with the black face. You make a mental note to try and track down it’s price later– _if_ the motel’s internet starts working again.

“Charming name for a charming lady.” Joe smiled, “Let me buy you a drink.”

Your first instinct is to say no. You don’t accept drinks from strangers. But, you’re a new girl, in a new town, and you know that Joe – based on Sarah’s notes – is harmless. Flirty? Yes. Forward? Maybe so. But that charm had boundaries. What better way to get a little more information than few drinks to loosen lips?

You accept with a small nod.

You finish your first drink and got midway through your second, letting Joe regal you with stories about his latest car, how he’s fixed it up, how fast it goes – so on and so forth. As often as you can, you steal glances at Clyde as he tends after the bars’ patrons as the place begins to fill up.

Apparently, you’re a bit too obvious with your glances because Joe says something.

“You got eyes for him?” He asked. His lips curled into a friendly smirk at the rim of his glass.

“H-huh?” You sputtered, gin and tonic splashing up your lip and nose.

“He ain’t the type.” Joe said, “See those two—” He pointed to the women you noticed before, “He could have his pick of either of him, but he won’t. He just ain’t the type for anything casual.”

You swallowed another mouthful of your drink to stop yourself from saying anything about that little anecdote of information. You needed to collect your thoughts. You didn’t want a rumor started that you had a crush on Clyde Logan. You needed to remain _available_. It was the only way people would talk to you and be vulnerable.

“Not a lot of guys like that around anymore.” You said, unable to stop yourself from thinking about your string of failed dates through apps, the uptight boys from the academy, and your on-again-off-again boyfriend.

“Plenty of guys like that.” Joe countered, “You just gotta look in the right places.”

Joe does not claim to be one of them. Again, that refreshing honesty.

He placed his palms on the bar, standing up, “I’ll be back in a sec’.” He dug into the pockets of his jeans, placing a few quarters, “Be a doll and go select track N-18 for me on the jukebox.”

When you stood, your legs were just a little wobbly and your vision just a tad blurry. A collection of quarters in hand, you managed to stay upright and lean against the jukebox. The coins clunked and you pressed ‘N18’, resting your forehead against the glass as you watched the song switch over.

“Well, hey there, pretty thing.” Hot breath, reeking of alcohol, hit the side of your face and you jerked backwards. “Saw you sittin’ at the bar all by yourself.” You blinked, staring at the bald-headed man, who was moving _way_ too close for comfort.

“Not interested.” You said. Your tone flat. Your lips pressed into a firm line. Your entire focus has zeroed in on this man as he moved – again -closer to you. He’s in your personal space and it’s kicking your heartrate skyward, gooseflesh crawling across your skin and causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand.

“I like your top. It’s pretty.” Another reeking breath slithered across your face and assaulted your senses. He flattened one palm against the jukebox, your only means of escaping lie in the narrow space between his body and the wall. He’s effectively caged you in.

“Buddy, go back to your game or whatever.” You sharpen your voice as if you’re talking to a misbehaving child.

You don’t want to start a barfight on your first night in town. First impressions were everything. The mans’ fingers grab your waist, trying to pull you in, and bare your teeth on instinct.

Okay, _fuck_ first impressions.

You were not going put up with some drunkard getting handsy.

There’s a moment of preparation as you planted your feet, centered your weight, and curled your fists. The man is grinning at you – _oblivious_. Maybe he mistook your teeth flashing as a smile. Who the hell knows? He leaned closer and—

 _Crack_!

Your knuckles sing in pain as they connect with his jaw. He scrambled backward, cursing, and his friend suddenly came up from behind him.

In a place like this, all it takes is a spark.

The man insulted you and lunged. Your back hit the jukebox but then Clyde is just _there_. He towered over both men. Clyde grabbed the bald-drunk-idiot by the back of the shirt and yanked him backwards as if he weighed _nothing_.

“I believe I heard the lady say she wasn’t interested.” Clyde drawled, releasing the man with a shove. He side-stepped and his broad frame suddenly obscured your view as he positioned himself between you and the other two men.

Your heart jumped into your throat.

The man’s friend – sensing an opportunity – threw himself at Clyde. Two against one isn’t fair, even considering Clyde’s height and muscular build. You looked around and snatched a pool stick from the rack on the wall. It isn’t much, but it’ll do.

You swung, putting all your strength behind it, and it snapped against the creep’s back.

Your head is swimming. You _really_ weren’t supposed to start a bar fight on your first day.

“Oho! Always causin’ trouble, huh Logan?” Joe exclaimed as the bathroom door swung shut behind him and he joined into the scuffle. The brawl was over in a few seconds and Joe and Clyde tossed the two offenders out the front door.

You sank back into your barstool and cradled your hand, your thumb brushing over your sore knuckles. You feel – rather than see – Clyde stand behind you.

“You alright?”

You turned to him, noticing swelling forming under his eye from a right-hook he endured, and the first words out of your mouth are, “I’m sorry.”

Clyde looked genuinely confused, “What for?”

“I didn’t...” You licked your lips and your brow furrowed, “I didn’t mean to start trouble.”

You watched as his gaze dropped away from your face to your hands, curled against your chest, still smarting from the punch you threw. Under his scrutiny, you feel exposed, raw, and your blood is rushing from the burst of adrenaline that the fight stirred up. You’ve been tied to a desk for so long that you forgot how it _felt_ to get into a fight. How quickly it all began and how quickly it all ended. His eyes trail back up to your face.

He said your name and you found that you didn’t mind the way it sounded coming from his lips. The way it drawled, like pouring like syrup across your skin.

“The way I saw it…you didn’t start the trouble. They did. You’ve got nothin’ to apologize for.”

You sighed.

“Okay, well, but—” You tapped the spot right under your eye on your own face, “You’re going to have a nasty bruise on account of me being here.”

Clyde shrugged, “I’ve had worse.”

“Here, let me just….”

You turned back to the bar, using your fingers to gingerly scoop some ice from your drink into a napkin and then twirled back to face Clyde – who hadn’t moved – who seemed content to just keep standing near you and _looking_ at you in that way of his. You grasped the makeshift icepack in your hand and held it out, the ice rapidly melting from the warmth of your skin and soaking the napkin.

To your surprise, Clyde hunched his shoulders down, and you lifted your hand to meet him – letting the cold, dampened napkin press near his cheekbone. Your eyes met his, and you let out a soft, quiet exhale.

“Is this gonna go in your novel?” He asked and a drip of water slid off the napkin, trailed down his face and dripped from his chin.

Despite yourself, you laughed.

“I don’t know.” You scrunched your nose, considering the possibility, and then considering how this would even look in your report. “I don’t think so.”

You lifted your hand, gingerly reapplying pressure, and trying _desperately_ not to follow the tracks of cold water when they inevitably slip from the napkin. You want to fill the silence with words, but you feel like you’re at a loss as to what to say. In the background, you can hear Joe talking to someone else and the bar returned to a low murmur of scattered conversations, music, and television announcements now that the excitement is over. You tell yourself that you’re only looking at Clyde’s face on account of the fact that you’re trying to tend to his injury. It almost feels like the truth.

“You never answered my question.” Clyde said.

“Hm?”

“Are you alright?” He said it so gently, so kindly, that it floors you. Your lips part as your mind scrambled for an answer.

“Yeah, I’m okay.” Then, with a memory clinging to your smile, you said: “I’ve had worse.”

And, because tonight clearly wasn’t finished surprising you – Clyde lowered his eyes, something crossing his features that you don’t have the word for. Is he angry? Is he sad? It’s so sudden, so brief, that you’re left wondering if you imagined it.

“Wait here.” He stepped back and your hand hovered in the air for a second too long before you dropped it, curling the soggy napkin in between your fingers, and searching for a waste basket. Clyde circled around the bar, dropping below it, and then returning in front of you with a plastic first aid-kit.

Realization hit you - “ _Oh_.”

And something hot swelled in your chest.

“That’s not necessary. I’m fine. Really.” You swallowed past the feeling.

He stared at you from under his brows. Your name is uttered, gently, sweetly, and your resolve crumbled like sugar in water, “Let me look at it, at least.” He said, before adding, “Please.”

You set your hand on the bar, your knuckles rosy, and turned your face away as you felt Clyde’s prosthetic hand grasp your wrist. His calloused fingers graze along your skin, tenderly lifting each finger to test your range of motion, and out of the corner of your eye, you can feel the intensity of his stare on the side of your face as he gauges your reaction. Your heart threatened to beat from your chest and blood roared in your ears.

This felt too close. Too _intimate_. Panic threatened to drown out any rational and logical thought and send you out the door. You clutched your thigh with your other hand. No one had ever looked after you like this. Not even that time when you went out on a date, stumbled, skinned your knee, and ruined your tights. You had a passing thought if Clyde was always like this or if it was just you? He wasn’t looking after any of Joe’s scrapes, now was he? Was that big-headed of you to consider?

Wait, that was stupid. Back up.

Speaking realistically - you probably made the impression that you were a short-tempered city girl who couldn’t hold her liquor. There was no way you’d earn Clyde’s trust now. He probably thought you were foolish and impulsive. _No_. You shut your eyes. He was a dead-end. Sarah said it herself. You needed to calm down and get your head on straight. Jimmy and Joe Bang: they were the people you should focus on. Especially Joe. You should get up and talk to him. You should give him your number and try to be flirtier. Joe had a record. He would be the most likely to cut a deal with the Feds once the truth was out. Clyde was just the younger brother. He had a successful business running this bar. He likely got disability from the Veteran’s association. He wasn’t hard-pressed for cash. He didn’t have _motive_. He was **not** the reason you were here.

Clyde carefully swiped your knuckles with an alcoholic wipe. The absence of that telltale stinging sensation confirmed that you hadn’t broken the skin. As if he was handling glass, Clyde tilted your hand and began to weave the thin ribbons of bandages across your knuckles and between your fingers. You were familiar with this. It was just meant to protect the skin while it healed. Did he have to do this in Iraq? It was possible. Could he have been a combat medic?

He let your hand go, but his eyes were glued to your hand resting against the bar, “I ought to get back to work.”

“Yeah – I – uhm….” You slid from the stool and wiped your clammy palms on your jeans, “Sorry, I – um - thank you for – what do I owe you?”

You wanted to smack yourself.

“For the drinks.” You clarified before he could say something.

“It’s on the house…” He swallowed, “Consider it a welcome to the neighborhood present.”

“Okay.” You managed a small smile. Did it count as him buying you a drink when he owned the place?

You inhaled. Your nerves were too frazzled to do anything else tonight and you didn’t want to talk to keep talking to Joe.

“I’ll see you around?” You poised it as a question and waited for his inevitable rejection.

He gave you another one of those close-lipped, not-quite reaching his eyes smile, “You will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I re-watched the movie while writing this & there’s a scene (near the end) where Clyde’s sister says, “You really love your books.” Thus, my headcanon about Clyde being an avid reader. 
> 
> Additionally, I saw a [post](https://ultimate-adam-driver.tumblr.com/post/176673464674/a-clyde-logan-mystery-revealed) on Tumblr where someone was trying to analyze Clyde’s tattoo (what we see anyway) and discovered that it might be an Army Rangers tattoo. I’ve accepted that as my own headcanon as well. 
> 
> Also, yes, the book plot was Knives Out. We stan Rian Johnson in this house.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

You crossed your legs on the motel mattress and circled yet another HELP WANTED ad with your pen. The A/C mounted into the wall made an annoying whirring sound as it wheezed to life and pitifully spat out another cool burst of air. You needed something to supplement your income with cash so you could get the hell out of this room before you went stir crazy. Your last two jobs had been – in a word – _eventful_.

The first job was the gas station just a few miles away from the town center. It was the graveyard shift, which wasn’t _ideal_ , but that left you with your days and evenings to do whatever you wanted. The owner paid cash and you mostly spent your shifts snacking on candy and ringing up truckers for their purchases of gas and RedBull. By your second week, you felt like you were getting used to the weird sleep schedule and starting to notice the few regulars who came in for scratch tickets. But then you discovered some concerning security tapes while dropping money into the safe in the back. Your stomach roiled in your gut. _Who put cameras in a gas station bathroom?_ All it took was an anonymous call to the sheriff and the owner was put under investigation and the gas station temporarily closed.

You were out a job, sure, but at least that creep was out of business.

The second job was at the grocery store deli for the morning shifts. On the plus side, you got to take home whatever food they were going to throw out that day. Your mini fridge in your hotel room was soon stocked with lunch meat, and cheese, and yogurt. A few customers recognized you from the gas station, made small talk about the rumors going around (word travels fast in a town like this), and they always asked if you knew anything and you shook your head. That had lasted about a _week_. Before there was a general strike and rather get tied up in union-politics and wind up on the cover of the local newspaper while you were currently _laying low_ – you quit and claimed that you would never return to the grocery store unless the employees demands were met. The corporation didn’t care, of course. To them you were just one less paycheck to hand out.

Almost a month into this assignment and you weren’t any closer to any of the Logan brothers. You had met and spoken to Jimmy and his girlfriend, Sylvia, a handful of times. It wasn’t like you could just outright say, _“Hey, if you were gonna rob a bank, how would you do it?”_ Your fingers ran through your hair.

Then, there was Clyde.

You and Clyde entered into some weird unspoken ‘ _we don’t talk about the night we met’_ agreement. In the few times you stopped at the bar, he was polite and courteous, but nothing more. He didn’t even ask about your book. You rolled your eyes. _That_ shouldn’t matter. The book was just part of the cover story…

You circled an ad that read ‘QUICK CASH PAYMENT’.

It really shouldn’t matter at all that Clyde Logan treated you like a stranger.

Joe, on the other hand, treated you with all that charm and flirtatiousness that you expected.

On your first night back at the bar, after the brawl, he swept you into the middle of the floor and danced with you to a Johnny Cash song. You had thrown your head back, laughing earnestly, and tried not to step on his toes. That was a fun night.

Sarah might’ve been right when she said that you should work the Bang Angle (not what she called it, but what you did). But you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Joe Bang flirted with _everyone_. What made Sarah believe he would tell one of his lovers the truth about the heist if it ever came up? You were trying to trust your gut and your gut was telling you that Joe wouldn’t be the key to unlocking this case. 

You sighed, climbing off the bed, and slipping on your shoes. It was early in the day. You pinned your hair back and away from your face and laced up your running shoes. Today promised to be temperate and sunny. Some exercise would clear your end and shake off the lingering frustration from your lack of job and progress with your assignment.

You alternated between running and jogging as your feet pounded against the pavement. It felt good to feel your heart pumping strong in your chest. It made you feel grounded.

After your first mile, you made up your mind: you weren’t going to seduce secrets from Joe. Now, your next steps would be to tell Agent Grayson that you needed advice. She would know what to do. Maybe you could get into the school’s system as a teacher’s aide, get close to Sadie Logan, and integrate yourself into the community. You shook your head. No. Scratch that. Schools ran background checks. You could not work for public education while down here. Your jobs needed to be cash payment only.

By your second mile, your mind was stuck in a loop around Clyde. The enigmatic, shy bartender who hadn’t spared more than a dozen words with you since your first night in town. Fuck, that was _irksome_. What was his problem? Was he mad about the bar fight? That didn’t make any sense. He made it clear that it was the men who were bothering you that were to blame not you. Had you overstepped a boundary when you touched him? Was there some rumor about you that was floating around and rendered you a pariah?

A low rumble of thunder echoed overhead. You looked up at the darkening clouds. _Don’t you dare…_ as soon as the thought left your mind, a fat raindrop landed on your nose. You spun on your heel and cursed your luck, the universe, the sky, and anyone else that might be listening.

Your top clung to your skin, your hair plastered against the back of your neck, as the rain came down in sheets. Everything was soggy and uncomfortable and cold and while standing at a stop light, you buried your face in your hands and let out a muffled, aggravated scream. _Weirdly_ , some of the raindrops tasted salty. You sniffled.

Today just was not your day.

“You alright, hon?”

You looked up and you blinked away the raindrops that were clinging to your eyelashes.

A woman was leaning against her steering wheel, peering past the person in her passenger seat, and looking at you with a concerned knit to her brows. And the person in the passenger seat? It was Clyde _goddamn_ Logan. The woman in the car? His _goddamn_ sister, Mellie.

You were hyper-aware of the prickled gooseflesh sprawling across your skin and the tight pebbling of your nipples against the thin fabric of your sports bra. You self-consciously covered your chest with your arms as a hot wave of mortification rolled through you.

“Where’s your car?” She asked, her colorful nails flexing against the wheel as the light turned green.

You sputtered a laugh, “I was…I was out for a jog and—” You shrugged, avoiding meeting either of their eyes, “I have the worst luck.”

“Well, shit.” She snapped her gum, “Get in, then.”

The automatic lock clicked open and without further prompting, you clambered into the backseat. You wiped at your face with your hands, “Thank you.” The passenger side window started to roll up and you noticed the darkened fabric of Clyde’s sleeve from where the rain had splattered onto him. Your wet, bare thighs stuck against the leather. You glanced up at the back of Clyde’s seat. He hadn’t even looked at you.

“It’s not a problem. I can drop ya back at your place after we pick up the deliveries.” Mellie looked at you from the reflection in the rearview mirror.

“I’m actually glad I ran into ya. I wanted to talk to you about something woman-to-woman.”

You swallowed, glancing at Clyde again, “Uh okay?”

“Oh! Don’t worry about Clyde.” She waved her hand, her large jewelry winking in the light, “He’s trustworthy. I wanted to talk to you about Joe.”

“What?“ You shook your head, your eyebrows knitting in confusion “…Okay. Tell me then.”

“People been talking, saw him flirtin’ with you and whatnot. And you’re **_new_** so I felt it was only fair that someone tell ya to be careful. Joe seems harmless, but he’s a heartbreaker.”

Your heart had done about a dozen cartwheels before Mellie finished.

“Thanks…I think? Uh.” You exhaled, lips puffing outward, “I’m not interested in him anyway.”

Clyde unexpectedly turned in his seat and then tore his head away as soon as once he realized that your gazes had met. That was odd. Was Clyde…flustered? More importantly, why?

“Coulda fooled me.” He said, his words stiff, “On account of all that dancin’ and whatnot.”

 _Ah_.

You clicked your tongue against your teeth. _The_ _dancing_? That was so long ago. Mellie chuckled and tried to get Clyde to give up more details about this dancing he saw, but he concentrated on the window to watch the passing scenery. You cleared your throat and spoke up before Mellie could harass him any longer.

“I’ll try to be clearer with him, then.” You said, twisting your fingers in your lap.

“He ain’t your type?” Mellie guessed correctly with a shrug of her shoulders.

“No.”

“What _is_ your type?”

You let out another awkward, short laugh, “Why do you wanna know?” The car pulled to a stop in front of a white church. Mellie spun around in her chair, her bright nails clutching the back of her seat as she grinned at you.

“’Cause – it’s bad luck to go to the Fourth of July Celebration without a date.” You enjoyed how she drawled the word July – like _Jewel-Eye_. You wondered if Clyde would pronounce it similarly.

“ _Is it now_?” You said with a heavy helping of sarcasm coating your words. 

You looked up at the church, “What are you picking up here anyway?” Your lips lifted into a smile. Though Clyde was still looking away from you. “Not a husband, I assume.”

Mellie tossed her head back in a laugh, “Gosh, _no_. You’re funny. You never said she was funny, Clyde.” She gave a pointed look to her brother, then back to you to explain, “It’s our local Meals-On-Wheels. We deliver food to seniors and the like.”

An idea popped into your head, “Do they need volunteers?”

Mellie leaned back, her lips turning down for a second and her eyebrows shooting skyward in surprise, “Shit. Probably?” She turned the car ignition off, “I can ask!”

She was out the door and you were left in the car, alone, save for Clyde. The awkwardness that enveloped the tiny space made your heart race and your palms start to clam-up. You had so many questions on the tip of your tongue. He twisted at the hip to face you and in that same moment – you opened your mouth:

“I—”

“What—”

“No, sorry.” He said, lifting his hand, “You go first.”

“What did you mean? All that _dancing_?” You asked, swallowing past the tingling sensation in your throat. Clyde was looking at you. Really fucking looking at you in that way of his. It was identical to that first night. It was all dark intensity mixed with softness. It reminded you of dark chocolate melting on your tongue. It was akin to standing naked in front of someone for the first time.

“You and Joe…I saw you two dancin’.” He shrugged but there’s a tense tic of his jaw.

“Once.” You stressed, leaning forward in the small cab, your knees pressing into the center console that rested between the driver and passenger seat. “ **One time** because he wanted to show me how to waltz.”

“His hands were on you.” Clyde’s voice went soft and your heart slammed into your ribcage. Every physical clue he was giving you was hinting that he was _affected_ by this. The stiffness of his shoulders, the working of his jaw, the avoidance of meeting your gaze – and for a second, you’re grateful for all those trainings about studying body language and micro-expressions.

“That’s pretty normal for dancing.” You said, gently, ducking your head. The sound of rain pounding against the hood and the windows creates a white-noise filter from the outside world. Since he’s not looking at you, you take your time looking at _him_. That bruise healed up. But you can’t help but notice the darkened circles under his eyes – he wasn’t sleeping, then? You knew the feeling.

“I suppose so.” He said before _finally_ looking at you.

The air was heady and electric as your breath intermingled in the confined space. A pleasant, familiar thrill went through your veins.

Oh.

So _that_ was the reason you couldn’t flirt with Joe. You were attracted to Clyde. Well, that just made everything so much easier, didn’t it? You licked your lips and caught his gaze dropping to your mouth for a half-second. 

Even if Clyde didn’t have information about the heist itself – his trust would earn Jimmy’s trust. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was the only one you had. You pushed a wisp of hair away from your temple and let a slow, genuine smile spread across your flushed face. Would he lean in first? Or should you? His eyes flickered down to your mouth again and you bit your lip. First kiss in a car during a thunderstorm? That wasn’t a bad start to a story…

You shifted closer and tilted your neck toward him - 

“You still lookin’ for work?” He asked.

You reeled backwards, jaw dropping, and then the backdoor is flung open with a well-timed crack of lightening.

“Hold these, hon.” Mellie said, shoving a large paper bag into the car and sliding it toward you.

Clyde settled back into his seat. You looped your arm around the bulky bag and Mellie was rattling off information about volunteering, but your brain _wasn’t_ keeping up.

You almost kissed Clyde. No, scratch that. You _wanted_ to kiss him. You thought he wanted to kiss you, too. Had you read the signals wrong? Why did he bring up your current unemployment? There was an anxious tightness in your chest as you recognized that you were _annoyed_ with Mellie for interrupting. But, how much of you wanted to kiss him out of pure attraction and how much of you wanted to kiss him just to get information?

You leaned your head back into the cushions. _Great_. Another question for you to lose sleep over tonight. You needed to talk to Sarah. She’d have the answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do I love Mellie? Yes. Do I love kinda-jealous Clyde? Yes. 
> 
> also like...pls leave comment if ur having a nice time cuz im having a nice time writing it LOL


	4. Chapter 4

* * *

Sarah does not, in fact, have the answers. Nor does she have the time for your call. It lasts all of two minutes, in which you are only able to exchange pleasantries and tell her that you’re feeling confused about the assignment – before she cuts you off.

She reminds you to follow the rules and trust your gut. That was it.

You stared at the looping cursive, the number one staring at you: _Don’t get attached_.

Could you get close to Clyde without getting attached? Right now, you understood that your feelings toward him were purely physical attraction. You could navigate that. Joe said that Clyde wasn’t the casual hook-up type of guy.

What was the plan then? Could you pursue the physical affection, get _serious_ enough that Clyde would even want to be with you? You chewed on your thumbnail. Sex was easy. But, could you fake your way through a relationship?

You didn’t know if you could.

You weighed the pros and cons: The arrest of the ‘ _Hillybilly Heist_ ’ would be career changing. Sarah would have her own redemption for her instincts being correct. But, then what? The Logan and Bang brothers go to jail, unless they had good enough lawyers to cut a deal, and all their belongings repossessed by the FBI?

The Logan family and their known associates had shown you nothing but kindness and generosity this entire time.

Mellie gave you a ride home and ensured you’d be able to help volunteer with Meals on Wheels. Sylvia Harrison helped you refill your birth control prescription pro-bono. Joe Bang taught you how to waltz, told the worst jokes, and played a mean game of Texas Hold ‘em with you. Jimmy helped you replace your car battery when it died in outside Lily’s bakery. Clyde fought on your side and tried to patch you up afterwards, and you knew that he kept an eye on you whenever you were in his bar.

You wanted to chalk it up to small town hospitality.

But there was no way that was it.

You sighed and yanked the sodden tank-top over your head. Your teeth chattered and your skin prickled with gooseflesh as you turned on the shower and prayed there was heat left in the pipes. Luck was on your side, it seemed, because the water was warmer than you could have hoped for. You dragged your fingertips across your scalp as you massaged the soap and watched the bubbles twirl down the drain.

The only middle-ground scenario you could come up with is to just get close to Clyde with _friendship_. You had the foundation for that. The last thing you needed to do was act on this attraction too quickly and scare him off.

You smirked, finding it funny that you could possibly intimidate someone like Clyde.

That night you fell asleep and dreamed of rain-soaked open roads and whiskey on your tongue.

It rained all throughout the next morning. You covered yourself up in a dark camouflage raincoat (beggars can’t be choosers when the only clothing stores nearby are a Dick’s Sporting Goods and JCP Penny’s).

You drove in silence, because your radio stopped working, to the church to pick up the Meals on Wheels. It was usually unpaid volunteer work, but Mellie said something to the pastor, and they were giving you a small stiped to help with gas and let you know an extra container was in the bag with your name on it.

You bite your lip hard enough to taste copper.

“Thank you.”

You hightailed down the concrete steps and back to the safety of your car. The sharp pinprick of tears bites at your eyes and you swiftly blink them away.

You’re not sure what inspires such selflessness in a place with a high rate of unemployment, drug and domestic issues, and ill-maintained public services. It’s one sheriff station, one county hospital, and a few local shops that are still hanging on by a thread, despite the mega-corporations and large mall that’s twenty minutes down the interstate.

As you reach the final container in your bag and laugh at the name written: JOESPEH BANG. You checked the clock on your dashboard. It was Tuesday. His poker night. You pulled from the parking spot and turned down the road towards Duck Tape.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Joe said, lifting his head up when he saw you enter. Clyde followed your movements as you dropped the to-go box in front of Joe.

“Aren’t you – I dunno – a bit too _spry_ to be getting free lasagna?” You chided but Joe isn’t fazed in the slightest. He opened the lid and smiled down at the pile of tomato sauce.

“It’s damn good lasagna.” He replied right before Clyde wordlessly passed him a plastic fork.

You rolled your eyes and slid into the spot next to Joe.

“Hey Clyde.”

“Evenin’.” He reached for a glass, “What it’ll be tonight?”

You shook your head, “Just water.”

He doesn’t question it. He just filled the glass and set it in front of you. The television broadcasted the traffic, then the weather, and then started discussing the local impact of adding new benches to the park and what that would cost and so on—you tuned it out even though your eyes were on the screen.

“You still lookin’ for work?” Clyde asked.

“Um.” You looked away, sheepish, “Yeah.”

“You could work here.”

Your stomach dropped into the floorboards. You tried to picture it – coming here, every day, working with Clyde. A voice that sounded like Sarah’s nudged at your conscious. _It’s a good opportunity_ , it reminded you, _this is your chance to get close_. That would be the second time today someone offered help without any expectations in return. It was overwhelming. How did people live like this? You took a slow sip of water and then looked up at Clyde.

“Thank you.” You found yourself shaking your head, “But, I’m…my people skills aren’t great.”

“His ain’t either.” Joe said with a bark of a laugh, “And he _owns_ the fuckin’ place.”

You flushed hotly.

“I’ll think about it.” You said, watching Clyde’s expression as his body relaxed, throat moving as he swallowed, his eyes widening slightly – oh, he was _relieved_. You rubbed your lips together and then extended your hand out to Joe.

“Share some of that. I’m starving.”

You end up getting dealt into one of the poker games and you win two-hundred bucks. You look at Clyde from the tops of your cards and offer him a smile. He ducks his head and focuses on the glass in his hands – the same one you’ve been seeing him clean for the past fifteen minutes.

“You help at the church?” One of the players asked, dressed in flannel and a backwards baseball cap.

“Yeah, just started.”

“You any good with computers and suchlike?”

You frowned a little, unsure of where this guy was going, “Yeah.”

“Oh cool. You should talk to Pastor Sam. He needs someone to help with the summer programs for the kids and stuff like that. He’s totally clueless with computers.”

You raised your eyebrows, “Alright. I’ll see.”

You win another ten dollars before gracefully bowing out of the game and tucking the winnings into your bra. You sidled back to the bar and hopped back into your seat with a grin.

“You were smiling an awful lot over there.” Clyde commented, “You clean house?”

“I didn’t do _too_ bad.” You preened, resting your elbows on the bar, and settling your chin between your palms.

“About earlier—” Clyde began, “I didn’t mean to spring it on you like that.”

It takes your brain a half second to realize that he’s talking about the job offer and **not** your almost-kiss from yesterday.

“Oh.” You wrinkled your nose, “It’s cool. I know you’re just trying to help. I just don’t like jumping into decisions.”

Clyde nodded, “Take all the time you need.”

“Are you coming to the bake-off next weekend?”

“Yeah.” He tossed the dishrag over his shoulder. You _shouldn’t_ find that kind of hot, but it’s kind of hot. Your cheeks warm between your hands.

“It’s Jimmy’s weekend with Sadie so we’re making a whole day of it.” He elaborated without you asking. Another small nudge toward a friendship, you hoped.

“If only I had a kitchen.” You murmured wistfully, “I’m sure you’ll have fun together.”

“Are you…” He paused to find the words, “You’ll be there, right?”

Your smile brightened, “Absolutely. I never had these types of things growing up. I’m trying to make up for lost time.”

“And material for your book, no doubt.”

Your body tingled with delight. He _remembered_. You nodded and he set a new glass of water in front of you. You thanked him and watched as he walked away to get someone another beer from the cooler. You drummed your fingertips against the glass. You weren’t sure if he’d come back and keep talking to you.

This felt like uncharted territory after this past month of polite, brief small talk.

When he returned, your heart jumped to attention.

“Any progress on it?” He asked.

“Some.” You said, “I’ve got this character, and everyone thinks she’s the dad’s favorite, right? She followed in his footsteps and everything. She helped him with his career. But I haven’t decided if she’s a good guy or a bad one.”

It’s not until the words are out of your mouth that you realize you’re talking about yourself. The line between fiction and reality is obliterated.

Clyde drew his eyes to the ceiling, his expression pensive as he mulled over your words.

“What does she want?” He asked, his voice dipping, and if there wasn’t a literal wooden slab blocking your bodies then you imagine he would’ve stepped closer.

“Recognition.” You breathe out and glance up into his darkened honey eyes. “She’s always been in her dad’s shadow, you know?”

“That doesn’t sound like a strong motive.” Clyde said, “Not to me.” His southern drawl made your stomach clench.

“You don’t think so?”

“Does she love her old man?”

You think about his question for a moment and then nod.

“Then there’s plenty of other things she can get recognition for. I doubt she’d want to be known as her dad’s killer. What sorta pay-off is that?”

“Maybe she just was fed up with the way he did things! How he ran the company and she wanted to escape. She wants to be recognized as her _own_ person.”

“Like I said,” Clyde huffed, “There’s plenty of other things she can do to achieve that dream.”

Unable to stop yourself, you smile at him.

“Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

Soon, talking to him falls into a rhythm. He gets pulled away to do work every few minutes, but he always circled back to you. It fills your chest with a bubbly, dizzying sensation. At first, he’s just picking your brain about your novel and you’re surprising yourself with how effortlessly you come up with answers. Then, it moves into your mutual appreciation of literature with a back-and-forth discourse of favorites and least-favorites.

“What? The vampire one, really?” You smiled, “I pegged you as more of a wizarding guy.”

“Harry Potter?” His brow furrowed, “That’s – no. Just no.”

You laughed, blocking your mouth with your palm, and Clyde granted you another one of his slow small close-lipped smiles.

“Okay, I told you mine. What’s yours?”

You ‘ _hmm’d’_ as you considered your favorite guilty pleasure book, “Promise not to laugh?”

He looked downright _scandalized_ , “You laughed at mine!”

“Only ‘cause I wasn’t expecting it!” You tossed your hands up in supplication, “Okay, it’s fine if you laugh. But my guilty pleasure is The Galaxy Wars series.”

“Isn’t that the one they made a long-ass TV show for? With the spaceships?”

You made a face, “Eugh. Yeah. They really didn’t do the books justice. _At all_. They totally butchered Kira’s arc and then there was this amazing villain-to-hero redemption that happened in the books, but they completely erased it in the show for some stupid reason and just had him DIE in order to redeem himself. So, so dumb.”

Your face flushed bright when you caught on that you were rambling. Clyde’s eyes softened, one hand on the bar with his fingertips dangerously close to your own. You pressed your lips together.

At the risk of totally geeking out and scaring him off, you switched to the next category, “Okay – favorite scary story?”

Clyde, you discovered, wasn’t a big fan of horror. Whether it was movies, books, or TV-Shows.

“I’ve seen enough of the real-world monsters.” He said by manner of explanation, “I ain’t looking to find anymore.”

Your chest constricted, realizing this sacred, intimate piece of information about Clyde – not as a suspect, but as a person. How many people knew this about him? How many even cared to know? You thought of the mountain of case files that you flipped through in your day to day job. The stories, the deaths, the tragedies, the forgotten cold cases, the injustices…all of it…

You inhaled, your breath shaky, “I get it.”

He was as perceptive as ever, “You do?”

“I do.” You drew your hands away from their close proximity to his on the bar and folded them on your lap. Your heart thudded nosily in your chest and you forced yourself to hold his gaze. For his part, he didn’t look away. You wondered, not for the first time, what he saw written on your face.

“I – I think that’s why writing helps. It helps me process it.” The moment feels heavy and weighted. For whatever reason, you’re more honest with Clyde than you’ve ever been with anyone else. It’s electrifying and terrifying and you don’t know what that _means_. If it means anything at all.

“I hope this murder mystery you’re writin’ is more fiction than non-fiction.”

Your laughter loosened your shoulders and shakes off some of the fear in your stomach. You feel at ease for the first time in months.

“It’s all fiction. _I_ _promise_. But, who knows, maybe I’ll find a spot in there for a kind, tall gentleman who runs a bar.”

“I’d be honored.” His voice is so considerate, so honest, and pleasant, that your eyelashes flutter in response. “Assumin’ you don’t kill me off.”

You raised your hand to your heart in mock-shock, “Never!”

This time – his smile almost cracked and showed his teeth, but he turned away from you at the last second.

You fall asleep that night with the image of Clyde’s eyes crinkling at the corners following you into your dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clyde: *Almost smiles*  
> Reader-Chan: OOPS - MY HEART WENT OOPS!
> 
> Did I tag this fic as slow burn cuz it is a slow burn lol


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

The weather holds up through the week and into the bake-off weekend. You slipped a bight yellow dress over your head and managed to fashion your hair into a braid that droops over your shoulder. There’s an anxious feeling in your chest that’s been there all morning. Anxiety doesn’t seem the right word, but it’s the only one you got.

You’re anxious to see Clyde.

You want to see him outside the bar. Outside the patron-and-bartender-who-were-kinda-friends that you had developed.

And at that point, you realized, that it had nothing to do with the mission. Yes, getting close to Clyde/The Logans was the goal. But…

You chewed your lip as you waited for Mellie to come and pick you up.

Again, the thought of _‘could you really do this’?_ rolled through your mind and it sucked some of the nervous, fluttering excitement away.

Mellie’s cherry-red Mustang came screeching into the parking lot and she popped her head out the window, her curls framing her expressive, bright smile, “You’re lookin’ cute!” You couldn’t help but preen a little at the compliment. “Get in, little duckling!”

There was no grace when it came to a friendship with Mellie. She all but forced it upon you after picking you up on the side of the road. You weren’t sure if she was involved in the Heist but with the way she drove – you clutched the edge of your seat – you could imagine she’d make one hell of a getaway driver if they needed that. She took a sharp turn and you all but slammed into the passenger door.

“Jesus, Mel, slow down. Are we in a rush?”

“Yeah!” Mellie said with a scoff, “Everyone always goes for Mrs. Reed’s brownies first and if you don’t get to try one then I will – I just don’t know what I’d do with myself. The entire weekend will be ruined.”

Despite the ridiculousness of her words and the very real, serious expression on her face, you couldn’t help but laugh.

And yes, she was breaking the law by speeding, but it wasn’t like you were going to _arrest_ her. “Okay, just don’t get pulled over.”

Mellie just winked.

After a few minutes of just the crooning radio filling the silence between you and the semi-frequent curse falling from the Logan sister’s lips.

“So, you really turned down Clyde’s offer to work at the bar?” She asked with the wind tousling her curls.

“I did.” You sniffed. It had been a difficult decision. Logically, working with Clyde would have been the perfect opportunity to get close. His offer had been _genuine_ and _candid_. He wasn’t offering with another motive in mind. He just wanted to help. And that’s the exact reason why you had to say no.

You were already going to betray all the kindness he and his family showed you once you found what you needed for their arrest. You knew it was going to hurt.

No need to add to that list.

And as often as you tried to remind yourself that the Logans were _criminals_. It was difficult to see them that way.

“Why?” Mellie asked, “Money no good?”

You shook your head.

“Is it cuz he’s got a crush on ya?”

Your heart slammed into your ribs as Mellie slammed on the breaks and blared her horn.

“Dickbag!” She shouted from the window.

“Uh.” You swallowed thickly, “He doesn’t.”

“Oh. He does.” She grinned a toothy white smile, “He’s just a gentleman about the whole thing.”

Mellie pulled onto the grassy lawn outside the elementary school and parked alongside the various family vans, beaten-up trucks, and muscles cars.

“To Mrs. Reeds!” She exclaimed, “Grab me my purse, will ya, please?”

You reached behind your seat and tossed it to her. Your mind was still whirling. Okay. Fine. This wasn’t _new_ information. Not really. Mellie was just confirmed what you had already suspected. Clyde had physical feelings – he was attracted to you. That was fine. Everything was perfectly, superbly fine. This was a good thing! You could use this to your advantage, maybe even just lean into the flirting and discover what you needed to know with minimal damage to anyone’s feelings.

But, if this was a good thing, then why did it feel like a viper had made its home inside your belly? Your stomach was in knots as you followed Mellie to the various booths and stands set up by the community. You took a deep inhale – smelling the sweet scent of fresh cut grass and the lingering aroma of baked goods.

Mellie pulled you to her side, quickly introducing you to Mrs. Reed and her ‘to-die-for’ brownies, and you fumbled with your change as you paid for one. It all went to a good cause, after all. You should know. You helped make the posters and organized the spreadsheets for expenses. In between that and the odd jobs you picked up here and there you almost had enough for a place of your own. Because – let’s face it – staying at the hotel was starting to get old. 

“Aunt Mellie!” A girlish voice rang out and both you and Mellie turned to follow it.

Your heart slammed into your ribs for a second time as you saw Sadie sitting on Clyde’s shoulders towering above just about _everyone_ in the crowd. You saw Jimmy wasn’t far behind with his arm around Sylvia’s waist. You met Clyde’s eyes and you’re unable to stop the slow smile that spreads across your face. Sadie looks so small perched on his shoulders with her hands resting on the top of his dark hair.

“Dang, you got tall.” Mellie laughed, passing a cookie up to her niece. Your group formed a semi-circle on the outskirts of the flow of people who were browsing the bake sale. For whatever reason – you were standing right across from Clyde and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him every few seconds. The conversation flowed easily, with Sadie, Jimmy, and Mellie doing most of the talking.

But then Jimmy got started his favorite topic – trying to convince you to get rid of your car. “It’s a heap of junk!” He said, “Really, say the word, and I could call Bobbie Joe.”

You laughed, peeling the plastic wrap from the brownie, “It’s **my** heap of junk.” You stressed the words even though you knew he wasn’t going to listen. Besides, Jimmy didn’t need to know that you couldn’t waste money on buying a new car.

“Clyde- “Jimmy shot an arm out, gesturing to his brother, with an exasperated look on his face. “Please. Talk some sense into her, man.”

“It’s her car, Jimmy.” Clyde said, his voice dripping like honey. You tried not to think about how it made you feel. In an effort to stop yourself from grinning like an idiot at Clyde - you took a bite of the brownie and you tossed your head back and gave an exaggerated groan of pleasure.

“Holy shit!”

“I _told_ you!” Mellie laughed, slapping your arm as you brought your head back and wiped the crumbs from your chin. You broke off a piece with your fingers and passed it to Mellie.

“It’s pretty good.” You admitted with a little shrug. Your eyes pulled away from Mellie and you were met with Clyde’s stare – wide and dark – and you forgot how to _breathe_. You felt trapped in the crosshairs of his intense gaze. Conversation carried on around you, but you didn’t hear any of it.

You stared back at him and drank it all in. His plush lips were parted, and his mole-dotted cheeks were touched with a flush of color. A tendril of warmth coiled in your stomach.

Well, if you had any doubts about his crush (as Mellie called it) on you…those doubts had been blown to shreds. You couldn’t decide if it made your job easier or harder. Yet, with the hungry look he was giving you…you were leaning towards harder. What if his crush developed into something _more_? You internally winced at the idea. Would it even matter, though? He’d be behind bars.

The idea of Clyde Logan inside a cage made something cold trickle down your spine.

You blinked and snapped back into focus at the same moment that Clyde turned and crouched so Sadie could climb off his back. You saw Mellie whisper something to Sylvia but you weren’t fast enough to read her lips. Your brain was still lagging 3 steps behind.

And then, somehow, you were alone with Clyde. You watched, numbly, as Mellie held Sadie’s hand to one of the many cupcake booths.

“She really – uh – likes these sorts of things.” You said, eyes still on Mellie, because that felt safer somehow.

“Yeah.” You saw him fold his arms out of the peripheral of your eyes, “Holidays are her specialty, though.” 

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You braced yourself and turned your head to look at him. It was impossible to stop the muscles in your chest from constricting under the heat of his gaze.

“She took it upon herself to keep up with all the traditions after Ma passed.” He said, working his jaw and you caught the cue for what it was. Tender topic. Stay away.

You chose the safest route of conversation. Because apparently you were a coward when it came to the Logans.

“She’s a good sister.” You said, breaking off another piece of your brownie, “Do you want some of my brownie?” Once the words were out of your mouth, you wanted the Earth to swallow you up for how awkward they sounded. Of course, he didn’t want any of your stupid brownie. Even if it was _very_ good. He could probably read right through you. That you were awkward and hopeless when it came to conversations about grief because everything that came out of your mouth sounded stiff and uncaring. It was one reason why you avoided taking charge during any investigations that required someone to interview the grieving families who had missing children.

He plucked the piece of offered chocolate from your fingertips, “Thanks. These ain’t even the best ones.”

You looked at him, incredulous, and tried not to watch his mouth as he chewed. “It’s not?”

“Nope.” Another one of those not-quite smiles touched his lips, “I’ll show you.”

“Okay.”

If you sounded a little breathless – he was nice enough not to mention it.

Your standing in line at the little booth that sells coffee, tea, and hot chocolate when Clyde spoke up.

“I was wonderin’…” He ventured, voice sounding boyish and shy for a man of his size. “If – if you’re not goin’ to the Fourth of July celebration with anyone if you’d like to go with me?”

“Oh!” You stared down at the vibrant yellow of your dress, “I – um –“You rolled your lips together, “I’d like that.”

The line shuffled forward by one.

You _could_ do this.

A crush wasn’t anything real. It was juvenile. It was just passing infatuation. You had to use this to your advantage. You had to.

“I think if I remember right – Mellie said it was bad luck to go without a date, so, does – would that make you my date?” You peeked over at Clyde and found him staring off into the distance.

He huffed softly, “If you’d like.”

The line shuffled forward again.

“I would.”

He peered down at you. His teeth grazed his lower lip as he released it.

_Fuck._

Sadie nearly barreled into you as she joined you in the line, her father’s shout of “Sadie, slow down!” was lost to her ears.

“Uncle Clyde, can I have a latte?”

Clyde guffawed at Sadie, “A _latte_?” He repeated, his drawl dragging out the word and making it sound sinful. How did he do that? Was it him? Was it just the accent? You didn’t have that reaction to Jimmy speaking. Or anyone else for that matter. At most, Mellie’s drawl just made her cuter.

“Yes.” Sadie looked at you, “You know what one is, right? Daddy says you’re from the city. Does that mean you’re from Charleston?”

“Yes – I know what they are and no. I’m not from Charleston.” You looked between Sadie and Clyde, “You’re a little young for coffee.”

The line shuffled again – it was almost your turn.

“It’s not about the _coffee_.” She explained in that matter-of-fact way that children had. “It’s about the frothy milk on the top. I’ve seen them make pictures from it!”

“Maybe we can ask ‘em to make pictures with your hot chocolate then.” Clyde said.

“That’s not the same!” She insisted, “Please! Can I get a latte?!” She looked up at you both with her gap-toothed smile. You and Clyde shared a meaningful look. One that – you hoped meant – please let Jimmy show up soon. We’re not equipped for this. “Please!” She repeated, grabbing your hand, and squeezing it.

“You ain’t getting a latte. Jesus. Who taught her about lattes?!” Jimmy said, finally catching up to his daughter.

“Hey, no cutting!” Someone said behind Clyde.

“I’m not!” Jimmy scowled, “Sadie, come on.”

“Daaaad!”

“Stand with your dad, Sadie. Give me one second.” It was your turn at the booth. You ordered a hot chocolate with chocolate syrup though you couldn’t imagine drinking anything _hot_ in this weather. Then, you asked for a toothpick. The attendant behind the booth gave you a funny look but shrugged and passed it over.

You weren’t a barista nor were you an artist. As you swept the toothpick across the lines of chocolate syrup you managed to craft something that looked like a flower. Kind of. It was close enough. You carefully carried the drink to Sadie.

She downright squealed your name in joy.

“This is so cool! Daddy look! It’s a flower!” She held the cup in both hands.

“I see it, baby. That is _very_ cool.” Jimmy looked at you and all you could see was admiration. You swallowed past the tight feeling in your throat. You turned to see Clyde and found his expression similar, yet not exactly the same. Jimmy’s look was colored with parental affection.

Clyde looked like you just stole his breath from his chest.

And you had a distinct feeling that you looked the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes me feel like that emoji with the pleading eyes. CLYDE ASKED READER ON A DATE.  
> WOW. I LOVE IT!!!!!!!! so cute!!!!!!!!!!


	6. Chapter 6

* * *

Blessedly, your life finds a routine and it’s easier to not obsess over Clyde and the Logan family when you’re so _busy_. Every Monday, Tuesday, and Friday morning – you’re at small church that orchestrated the charity bake-sale/baking competition. You handle the registration and organization of summer programs geared towards the pre-teens, help with various secretarial tasks (emails and managing the website mostly), and some evenings – when asked – you help set up for the Alcoholics Anonymous group that comes in and uses the basement. Your afternoons are spent driving around the small-town delivering lunch and dinner to the Meals on Wheels houses. Every Thursday and Sunday evening, you head to Mr. Walker’s house to walk and feed his dog since he works 2nd shift. The dog’s a seventy-pound mop of shaggy brown hair named ‘Charles’.

The big lug threatens to knock you over most days in the balmy, Virginia twilight. But he never does.

Once and a while you manage to get a drink at DuckTape. Tonight, is one of those evenings. Your hair is sweat-plastered to your flushed face after chasing Charles through no-less than three neighbors’ yards. You slide into the barstool that feels like yours and Clyde, wordlessly, passed you a glass of water.

You chugged nearly half of it and then flopped your face into your hands, “That _dog_. I love him. But, good _God_.”

A low, rumbling chuckle is Clyde’s answer. It warmed you right to your toes.

His fingertips touched your temple and your eyes widen, seeking his – “You’ve got a leaf.” He said, gently pulling the debris from your hairline. Your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth. You can only manage a slight nod, “Thanks.”

It’s that same heady, weightless energy that surrounded you in the car. A tension that courses through your body and leaves you aching – but for what you don’t _know_. Just something. Admitting to yourself that you were attracted to Clyde was easy. Because he _was_ attractive. He wasn’t conventionally handsome in the same way of his brother. He probably never was Homecoming King. But there was something magnetic about him and you were hopeless inside it’s gravitational pull. You knew, based on the way his eyes darkened when they flicked to your mouth, that he was attracted to you. This was confirmed by his sister, two weeks ago, when she outed Clyde for having a crush on you. Then compounded when he asked you to be his date for the Fourth of July celebration next weekend.

You tried to tell yourself that this wasn’t a bad thing.

That this mutual attraction was _good_ for the case.

So, why the hell couldn’t you act on it?

You stared into those deep, soulful, whiskey-warm eyes and let out a soft sigh. Your phone was buzzing in your pocket.

“Excuse me.” You hopped from the stool and slipped outside to take the call.

“Hello?”

_Your name was snapped from the receiver, “God, where have you been?”_

You braced your elbows on the wooden railing on the porch, “What do you mean?” Your brows knit together in confusion, “We never had any plans to stay in touch. Not regularly, at least.”

_Sarah sighed, “I’ve been trying to call you for three days.”_

Oh right. You grimaced, “Sorry – I forgot to pay the bill. I’ve been busy.”

_“Oh?” There was a shuffling, “Hold on.” You heard her talking to someone else for a second, then a door shutting, “Please tell me you got something.”_

You pursed your lips. You had something, sure. You knew that Mellie loved to drink mango smoothies. You knew Sylvia was a total video-game-geek in college. You knew the Logan’s lost their mother. You knew that Joe took his coffee black. You knew that Jimmy had worked double-time to get Sadie tickets to see the Jonas Brothers in September right before school.

And _Clyde_ …

You licked your lips. None of what you knew could be used in a federal case against any of the Logan family.

You stared out into the low-lit parking lot, “I’ve been here for two months. Nothing’s changed.”

_“I didn’t say it was going to be easy, did I?” She hissed. You could imagine her shaking her head. “I was there for half a year, kid. Six whole months. Tell me you’ve made some progress or I’m pulling you. Lord knows I could use your help here.”_

Your heart froze your chest. Even though this wasn’t a sanctioned, official assignment, if Sarah told you to come back you wouldn’t have any other choice. You still worked for her – for the **_FBI_**. Your mind was swimming with memories and impressions – Clyde’s dark eyes, Sadie’s toothy smile, Mellie painting your nails and gossiping, Jimmy helping to fix the AC in your motel room, Joe inviting you to breakfast at his favorite diner, Clyde crouching in the mud to hug his niece, Clyde leaning against the jukebox while you played pool with Jimmy, Clyde asking you to test the fancy, fruity drinks he was trying to make, Clyde’s impossibly broad shoulders shifting beneath his baggy t-shirt—

_“Hello?” You could practically feel the clench of her jaw on the other line._

“Don’t.” You whispered, your heart finally starting again, “I do have something. I have a date with Clyde.” You shut your eyes as you said it. It felt like you were revealing a sacred secret. Something meant for just the two of you.

_“A date? Shit. Why didn’t you say so before?” She sounded like a cat with a bowl of cream, her voice practically purring, “Oh, this is good. This is very, very good. Clyde. You can use him to get close to Jimmy. Hell, maybe if we’re lucky and you’re convincing, we can get him to flip and testify against his brother. He’s already been to the big house once. I’m sure he’s not keen to return.”_

Something hot twisted your chest and you choked out, “I know.”

_“It won’t be easy but that’s why I put you up to this task. You know that, right? You’re the only one I can trust. The only one I believe can finally put this case to rest.”_

Another painful twist. The knife going deeper.

Isn’t this what you wanted? Recognition? Praise?

“I know.”

The bar door opened, and you jumped, turning to see Earl sit down in his chair and smile benignly at you. You offered him a short wave before turning your back to him. You could hear the quiet strike of a match and the smell of his tobacco wafted over to you.

_“I’m serious. You could be looking Supervisory Special Agent. Hell, maybe in a few years, Deputy Assistant Director – if that’s what you want.”_

Is it?

“I’m just confused, is all.”

_“About what?”_

This is your first time talking to Sarah is almost two weeks. Your first real conversation that’s lasted and held any substance to it and wasn’t just her brushing you off and telling you to remember the Rules. You might as well take advantage.

“I’m…” You exhaled, feeling less like a woman and more like a schoolgirl in front of the principal, “developing feelings for Clyde.” You dropped your voice low. You had a feeling that Earl could hear you but hoped he was decent enough not to spread gossip.

_Sarah said your name. It sounded like a warning. “You know the rules. What’s rule **one**? Don’t get attached. Attachment is dangerous. It’ll make things complicated. Which directly affects rule **two**. Keep it simple.”_

“I’m not! This isn’t--they’re just physical feelings.” You’re not sure if you’re trying to convince Sarah or just trying to convince yourself. Sarah is quiet on her end of the line. You hope she’s getting ready to deliver some wise, important advice that makes everything _right_ and _simple_ again. That makes everything OK. You want her to say she’s proud of all the work you’ve done. You want her to tell you that she understands you. You want her to take it all back, to say never mind, don’t go on the date, find a new angle because you should never risk your conscience over a case.

More than anything, you want her to reconsider if all _this_ is worth it. If befriending and betraying an entire family and their friends is worth putting 5 men behind bars who – to your knowledge – haven’t committed any further crimes and haven’t hurt anyone. It’s not like NASCAR is hurting for money. They’ve likely already made it up twice over by now.

_“Well, then use that.” She said, her words gruff, “Assuming it’s mutual. Men are a lot more likely to spill their deepest secrets when they’re thinking with their dicks.”_

Your heart dropped low.

“Right.”

_“Nothing gets in the way of the truth.” She muttered, maybe to you, maybe to herself. “But, don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” She added – almost as afterthought, “He doesn’t strike me as the type to force himself—”_

“Okay!” You swiftly cut her off, “I get it. Thank you.”

_“I’ve gotta get back to work. Contact me if you make any further progress.”_

You hang up and slid the phone into your back pocket. The weight of the conversation pressed onto your spine and you lowered your forehead until it touched the wooden bannister. Sarah was your mentor. She was like an older sister. You wanted to make her proud. You wanted to succeed. You wanted to be recognized as the woman who solved the case that everyone else thought was dead.

An errant little thought popped into your mind, coated in Clyde’s southern drawl – _“there’s plenty of other things she can get recognition for…”_

“You gonna be alright, hon?” Earl asked from his seat, a plume of smoke unfurling from his nostrils.

“Yeah. How much of that did you hear?”

“I wasn’t listening.”

You shot him a look over your shoulder, “I find that hard to believe.”

He flicked ash from his cigarette, “Alright, well, I heard what you said about—” He tilted his head toward the bar’s entrance. You blushed and straightened your back. You wondered if it was worth it to go back inside or if Clyde would pick up on your weird mood. If he did, would he say anything? It wasn’t like you could talk about this to him.

Earl piped up again, “Can I give you a bit of advice?”

Your shoulders felt heavy. Your heart, too. Hell. Everything did.

“Sure.”

“Don’t be afraid to tell someone how you feel and let ‘em decide what to do with the information.” He said, watching your face, “You can assume and think and think till you get dizzy with it. But you’ll never know for certain till ya say it. Worse thing that happens is that they don’t feel the same and you gotta nurse a broken heart with some whiskey for a while.” Earl shrugged, “But I know Clyde. I’ve known ‘im since he was a little tot trailing after his brother. He’s pretty fucking obvious when he likes someone. As rare as that is.” He took another drag of his cigarette.

“It can be hard to put yourself on the line like that. I know. I ain’t sayin’ do it right away or anything. But, shit. Clyde’s a good kid. You couldn’t have picked a better man in my opinion.”

You stared, a little unhinged, at this man sitting before you. How was it that a man who you barely knew gave better advice than a person who you’ve worked with for years? Granted, Earl’s advice caused a fresh wave of agony to vibrate through your bones because Clyde _is_ a good man. He is respectful, and kind, and quiet, and when he smiles it feels like the sun returning after three-days of rain.

However, his advice made you feel less alone. For that, at least, you were thankful. The interaction with Sarah had drained you, though. You wanted to go home and lie in bed and just _think_ for a while. Tomorrow was Friday and there was supposed to be a book club event scheduled at the library, and you needed get refreshments and snacks and help the volunteers set up. Also, it was payday and you had a couple places lined up to check out and see if they were suitable to live in. Your life wasn’t going to be put on hold just because of this talk with Sarah and your confusing feelings toward Clyde.

Okay, scratch that. The feelings weren’t confusing. The feelings were simple. It was just the idea of acting on them. _That’s_ what made everything confusing.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Early merely raised an eyebrow.

“Can you tell Clyde goodbye for me? I just.” You chewed your lip, “I gotta go.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, his face weather-worn, tanned, and friendly “Sure thing, darlin’. Take care of yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not trying to make Sarah seem like the villain here or anything LOL. I just wanted to paint the difference. Reader-Chan has been exposed to the Logan’s for two months and received nothing but kindness from them (and their small-town community).   
> Meanwhile, Sarah is still focused on justice/getting closure. She still sees it as a job. She doesn’t see them in the same light and therefore cannot empathize with RC’s dilemma. 
> 
> Ya’ll ready for the Fourth of July Fair? I saved all the delicious Clyde/Reader fluff for lucky number seven. ;)


	7. Chapter 7

* * *

Mellie helped with your outfit, perched on your bed as you dug through the shopping bags, “No, God. No heels. It’s a fairground. It can get muddy.”

“No. It doesn’t pop. Try a warmer color.”

“Oh, your butt looks _great_ in those jeans. Those are winners.”

Eventually, you settled on a comfortably thin plaid shirt (It was July. You weren’t looking to suffer from heatstroke) kept unbuttoned with a tank top underneath it. Jeans that were paired with little ankle booties with a minimal heel. Mellie approved it. Then, she dumped the contents of her purse out onto your bed and held up her curling iron.

“You keep a curling iron in your purse?” You asked, furrowing your brows.

“Yeah?” She looked at you like _you_ were the crazy one. “Who doesn’t?”

You pointed to your chest.

“Well then, you’re just woefully unprepared.”

She styled and curled your hair, chatting away about how excited she was that you’d be there, that you’d be there as Clyde’s date. She shared with you some of the more iconic mishaps and dramas that happened over the years. One year – the pig meant for the roast got lose and several of the fairgoers spent the better part of two hours chasing it through the grounds. Another time, some teenagers snuck into the Haunted House and got drunk and they had to close down the ride on account of all the beer cans and vomit. Most memorably, she said, was the year when Johnny Marshall climbed the carousel to tell his sweetheart that he loved her.

Mellie shook her head, “Pretty sure he saw it in a movie. He’s lucky he didn’t _die_.”

Throughout her stories, you worked up the nerve to finally open your mouth - “Can I ask you something?”

“Course.” She smiled at your reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Has Clyde ever taken a date before?”

She shook her head, “No. No way. Clyde. He – well - Clyde likes to keep to himself.”

“Oh.” You replied simply. Her words did not help the nervous flutter in your chest every single time your thoughts drifted to Clyde. Which was embarrassingly often. You weren’t avoiding the bar. You just didn’t have time to be there and before you knew it – it was Fourth of July weekend and you’d be with the Logan Family all day.

First, was the parade. The official celebration and kick-off to the weekend. You and Mellie were skipping that portion of the event in order to get ready. The main event was the fair. Complete with games, contests, rides, carnival food, and a spacious green for families to lay down blankets for picnics and to enjoy the evening fireworks. After the fireworks, the fairground became more – as Mellie put it – _fun_ for the adults. All the cheap beer tents opened up at dusk. 

“Don’t be nervous.” Mellie said as if she was reading your thoughts. She placed her hands on your shoulders and rested her chin on top of your head. “Just have fun and be yourself.”

She let you go and reached for your makeup on the counter. Mellie loved vibrant, bold, and dramatic colors for herself, but she knew what worked for other people. She dusted a dewy highlighter powder across the apples of your cheeks and brows. She glossed your lips, keeping them their natural shade and giving them just an enticing shine.

“It’s just—” Heat colored your cheeks and you looked away as she penciled your eyebrows, “Been awhile since I went out with anyone.”

“Alright, I’m only telling ya this ‘cause I like you.” She smiled, “Clyde’s got a weakness for peach cobbler.”

When you laughed, Mellie joined in, and some of the nerves loosened in your chest, “Alright, Mels. Thank you.”

“All done.” She looked at the mirror, “Gosh. I impress myself.”

You beamed at your reflection and then at Mellie, “Let’s go celebrate America’s birthday.”

You helped Mellie carry a cooler to the gingham picnic blanket that was sprawled across the lush, green field. Nearby, you saw Joe Bang lounging on a lawn chair, dark shades covering his eyes. He lifted a hand and waved at you.

Had you not been carrying a cooler filled with beer you would’ve waved back.

“Hey.” Clyde’s voice appeared behind you and then you felt his arm brush against yours as he took the cooler from your grip. Although it hadn’t been skin-to-skin contact, it tingled all the same.

“H-hey, I got it. It’s fine.” It was moot to say anything considering he already had a hold of it. He carried it the last few paces to the blanket and set it down next to the other. He gave you a rueful little smile that made your heart flip inside your chest. He was stupidly handsome. He was _always_ stupidly handsome. You could tell he got his hair trimmed and that he smoothed it away from his face. His broad frame was covered by a tight-fitting black shirt that made you sweat because yes, he was huge. You knew that. Did he really have to be muscular, too? God. It was unfair. You could see the hardline ridges of his abs and chest.

It was like learning a secret. At the bar, he always wore layers or something relaxed. A button-down dress shirt with a turtleneck underneath. Or sometimes, you saw him wearing a loose-fitting t-shirt. You assumed – Yes -you _assumed_ that a man of his size worked out. You saw peaks of his strength in the expanse of his back, the flex of his bicep, the expanse of his thighs confined in tight dark jeans, but to be so openly confronted it with it…

You didn’t even realize he stepped closer to you.

“I like the way you’ve done your hair.”

You lifted a hand to the curls, “Oh! That was all Mellie.” A blossom of pleasure heated your face, “But thanks. Uh. Shall we?” You gestured behind you to the fairgrounds. He nodded and fell into step beside you.

The air was fragrant with the scent of frying dough and smoked meats, wet earth mixed with the pungent crisp of freshly mowed grass, and the sharp, metallic note of beer. Children were giggling as they ran past, alarm bells – whirling, whooping, and dinging – rang out into the warm air as people won their prize of an oversized stuffed animal. The staff standing behind their booths – urging folks to step up, give it a try, it’s only three dollars!

“How you likin’ everythin’ so far?” Clyde said, breaking the silence you had fallen into.

“It’s nice. Everyone’s been really nice.” You wrinkled your nose, “I’m not used to it.”

Clyde looked genuinely confused.

“What do you mean?”

“Where I’m from - it’s very cutthroat. People don’t go out of each other’s way to help out unless there’s a reward or recognition in it for them.”

Clyde digested that information, his voice warm and soft when he spoke again, “What about your friends?”

You swallowed.

God. You were going to look like a workaholic loser if you told him that you didn’t _have_ any. That was the truth, wasn’t it? You could almost consider Sarah a friend, but she was more your mentor and supervisor. The power imbalance made friendship _tricky_. You had a few co-workers who you talked to back home. Were they friends? No.

And apparently, your silence had prolonged for too long because Clyde was clearing his throat with a bashful, side glance at one of the gaming booths. You jumped at the opportunity to erase the awkward silence.

“We should play!”

“Alright.” Clyde’s lips twitched, “I hope you’re feeling lucky.”

The game consisted of ten darts that had to be thrown at water balloons. Whoever got the most hits won the prize. Simple enough. Clyde paid for you both, picked up the first dart, and looked fairly confident. You realized that there’s a chance he might practice on the dart board at the bar…which means he might kick your ass at this.

You offered him a smile and the bell rang for you to start.

You squealed with delight as you hit your first one and you heard Clyde’s chuckle beside you. Your next two missed, one landing perfectly in between two balloons and the second falling short and landing in the grass. You stopped paying attention to how well Clyde was doing and focused on your own darts and their targets. The bell rang again, signaling that the game was over.

Your total was six. Clyde had gotten _nine_.

The clerk behind the booth smiled at Clyde, “Sir – congratulations! You can have anything from this shelf right here.”

“I’ll let the lady here pick.” He said looking down at you. The sound of his words it went straight to your gut. You bite your lip, surveying the spoils, before settling on a teddy bear wearing a red and black plaid shirt. You tucked the little guy underneath your arm as you and Clyde resumed your walk through the fairgrounds.

“Your sister mentioned that you don’t normally bring dates to this.” You were glad to be walking, it gave you a reason to look at the flashing lights and sprawling families as you maneuvered through the fairgrounds. It was easier to talk when you weren’t staring directly into Clyde’s intense gaze.

“I don’t.”

“You – um – “You managed a little smile, “Have some angry, jealous ex I should be worried about?”

Clyde chuckled, “No.” He shook his head, “Didn’t have much interest in dating...” He paused, seeming to decide upon telling you and your heart froze inside your chest. “After I came back from my second tour in Iraq, everyone was calling me a hero, and there were plenty of women wanting to go out with me.”

You both shifted to the edge of the walking path and you stared up at him as he shared this precious, intimate detail of his life. Of his _story_.

“I just didn’t feel comfortable with it.” He sighed, “They wanted me to be someone I’m not. They wanted a war hero with no trouble. As if I were something shiny to show off. So, I – uh – focused on my bar and once you turn down one person, word travels fast and you’re left alone after that.”

“Oh, Clyde.”

And what you feel for him in that moment is vivid and genuine and it _blinds_ you. You reach out and you touch both his arms, metallic and flesh, and step forward and it’s so easy ( _too easy_ ), to then loop your arms around his waist and press your body flush against his. He reciprocated the embrace a heartbeat after you initiated it.

He held you against him like you were soft, made of fragile porcelain, and in that moment, you’ve never felt so small and so _cared_ for. It was enough to make your throat go tight.

“Well, I’m _happy_ that you asked me to come here with you.” As the words come out in a rush, you realized that they were true. Painfully and beautifully true. “You and your family are the main reason I’ve felt so welcome in this place and frankly it’s overwhelming.”

You felt the laugh as it reverberates in his chest and you pressed your cheek to his sternum. You inhaled deeply – drinking in the earthly rich, pine scent of him. You were content to stay there with your body enveloped by his heat and the strong, steady echo of his heartbeat in your ears. Of course – that wasn’t _really_ an option.

“Can I try to redeem myself on another game?” You ask, peering up at him.

Clyde gave you a close-lipped smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. The hazy afternoon sun illuminated their color – reminding you of rich, dark chocolate.

You each bought a cup of beer and played a few more games.

You won the beanbag toss and earned yourself a glow-stick necklace and headband. Clyde puts the headband on your head as if it’s a crown and you _can’t_ stop smiling.

Clyde won the shooting game – something that impresses you, and if you’re being brutally honest, turns you on. Just a little bit. He selects a set of neon colored vampire teeth and explains, with a quick smile, that it’s for Sadie.

“I have something I want to show you.” He said, one hand stroked along your shoulder blade.

You’re not sure if the shiver that coursed through you is from his touch or if it’s from the lowering of the temperature as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, “Okay.”

The first stop was to get cotton candy. You picked a fluffy, nearly translucent pink whorl of sugar and dropped it on your tongue. You could feel the looming presence of your next dentist visit with each bite. Clyde led you around the spinning teacups – where you waved at Jimmy and his ex-wife, watching Sadie with her stepbrothers spin the teacup at an alarming speed.

You get in line and it’s fairly obvious where you’re headed, “The carousel?”

Clyde checked the silver watch around his wrist, “I heard the view’s very nice around this time.”

The swing in the carousel lurched forward and rocked back as the pistons engaged and the wheel turned, taking you and Clyde up above the lights and faces of the carnival. His thigh is pressed snugly against your own and he shifted, drawing his arm back and settling it around your shoulders – the logic in your brain told you that his choice is _practical_. It’s more comfortable this way since he’s so large. However, the romantic in your brain is melting at this sudden, new physical intimacy.

You let go of the sigh you were holding and lean into his solid form.

It’s a slow journey to the top, but it’s worth it. It’s so very, _very_ worth it.

From here, you can see the booths organized along the path, the picnic grounds dotted with multicolored blankets and clusters of families and friends, the wispy trails of smoke from the BBQ tent, and the ever-moving crowd of people.

You lifted your eyes away from the ground and toward the horizon and the view took your breath away. The sky is a familiar cotton candy pink with a bleeding burst of orange and yellow as the sun began to set. The entire fairground is illuminated by the golden rays.

“Wow.” You exhaled. The cooler breeze teased gooseflesh to rise up on your arms. Clyde’s arm tightened just a fraction closer around your shoulders.

Then you hear him whisper your name.

You turned your head and you drank in a new sight. The one of Clyde Logan bathed in the angelic hue of sunset, his eyes shining like glistening honey, the curves of his face highlighted soft, ethereal light. He leaned forward at the same time as you – pulled by a magnetic force – and your lips finally meet. He tasted like sugar and beer. The bar across your lap prevented a lot of movement, so you rest your hand on his knee, and you open your lips for him.

There isn’t even a second of hesitation before his tongue is in your mouth. You feel the cool touch of his prosthetic against your jaw and you realize that he’s cradling your face and devouring you. His torso angled toward you as much as he can be in the confined, restricted space. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, humming with – what you assume is pleasure – when he heard your gasp. He drinks in you in with each deliberate caress of his tongue. Your head is spinning. His lips are soft and there’s the slight tickle of his beard against your skin. Each stroke of his tongue against yours sent shockwave after shockwave of desire right to your core.

You pressed your thighs together and low whine escaped you.

The carousel car jerked and rocked backward again as the wheel began its next rotation. Clyde tore his mouth away from you and you’re _outrageously_ pleased at his expression. His skin is flushed, his lips glistening, and his chest is heaving. Good. You weren’t the only one deeply affected.

“I don’t want to stay for the fireworks.” Clyde said, drawing his hand away from your face. “I don’t like loud noises.”

“Okay.” You swallowed, “We can go somewhere else?” You suggested with your heart beating rapidly in your chest. The look Clyde gave you is pure hunger – there’s a tinge of uncertainty at the edges. As if he doesn’t really believe it. You swallowed again. Fuck the fair. Fuck the fireworks. You wanted one thing and that was Clyde’s mouth on you again. You squeezed his knee.

“I want to keep spending time with you.” You said, your voice quiet.

The bar lifted up and Clyde took your hand with his, “Okay, darlin’.”

You don’t leave without saying goodbye to the others. You gathered at the picnic blanket and sit next to Mellie – who is giving you a _knowing_ look. You dragged your hands across the grass and clovers beside the blanket.

It caught your eye and your brow furrowed, leaning closer, in case it was a trick of the foliage.

“Oh, hey!” You plucked it from the stem, “I found a four-leaf clover!” You exclaimed with a grin at your companions.

The look Clyde gives you is _indescribable_. It only serves another hot lick of lust between your legs.

“Sonofagun.” Joe said, cracking open his beer, sharing a meaningful glance around the group, “The little lady’s got luck on her side.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an annual fair at my hometown, and I tried to capture that feeling in this. I hope I achieved it! Also, yes soft babies getting their first kiss during sunset! Additionally, I wanted to say that although I have the next 3 chapters written, I likely will take some time writing the rest of the story due to the current state of affairs in my country. We are collectively mourning and angry. 
> 
> I was hesitant about posting this but ultimately I decided to because fanfiction can be a brief respite from the stress/pain/anxiety of the day. It doesn't make our problems disappear, but we can get lost for a little while and find some peace. 
> 
> I hope that everyone is taking care of themselves and one another. <3 I love you all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is where the explicit rating kicks in, folks! If you're not here for that - uh - you can pretty much skip the chapter, I guess??

* * *

Your leg bounced in the seat as Clyde drove. The radio played some country song but you’re only half-listening. Anticipation is coiling in your stomaching and spreading out into your veins. You might just _burst_. It definitely feels that way, anyway. The conversation in the car is light, as Clyde just asks you about how you liked the fair, and details about your day.

All of it was easy because talking to him was _effortless_. Clyde had this ability to put you at ease. He might come across as someone who would be intimidating but he really wasn’t. He was _good_. Safe. Solid.

Your stomach churned with anxiety once more. If you were going to do this (which you were pretty sure that you were), then what was your motivation? Were you doing it for Sarah? For the truth? For your job and a potential promotion?

You glanced at Clyde’s profile as he spoke about Sadie’s attempt at making her dad a birthday cake last year. His lips quirked in one of those almost smiles. God, what you would give to see a smile on his face – a _real_ one. Like the one you were sporting that made your cheeks ache.

Your gaze tracked down to his shirt, the planes of his chest, the wide spread of his muscular legs – you were doing this for _you_.

This wasn’t about Sarah, or your career, or your pursuit for the truth.

Clyde’s truck turned onto a dirt road and you yelped, grabbing the side of your door for stability, as it bounced along the uneven terrain, “You’re not going to murder me, are you?” You teased, “Because I think Mellie would kill you – if you did.”

“I’ve seen what you did to those whack-a-moles.” He glanced over at you, smirk on his lips, “I know better than to mess with you.”

The trees surrounding the road began to thin out and opened up to a gravel driveway in front of a cabin. Clyde parked his truck and then came around to open your door for you. The entire world felt serene. You could hear the crickets and cicadas chirping, the rustle of leaves as the wind ghosted through the forest, and the starlight above you – it nearly took your breath away for the second time that evening.

“Wow – Clyde.” You craned your neck to look up at the millions of stars, shining bright without the light pollution, against a sky of dark blue.

“This is beautiful. You live out here alone?”

He nodded, taking your hand, and leading you up his front porch steps, “It’s quiet.”

“You’re not worried about bears?”

“No,” He turned his head to look at you, “Are you?”

You shrugged, “I’m a city girl, what do you expect?”

His home was richly decorated in hues of dark green and gray. The first thing you noticed upon entering was the fireplace. The second – was the bookshelves. There was a short, squat one positioned behind the couch, two narrow ones by a set of doors, and then everywhere you looked – _books_. Some stacked on the coffee table, one on a table next to a lounge chair, some stacked on the kitchen table with a note reading: DUE SOON on top. Others were just on the floor in their own towers. You wondered how he managed to walk around without knocking them over.

He said your name and it was enough to draw your attention back to him – his arms looped around your hips and he pulled you against him. Your lips slanted against his, tongue prodding at his lower lip and he yielded with a soft moan. The touch of his tongue sliding against yours sent a tingle of excitement through your body. You let him guide you backwards until the back of your knees hit the couch. You fell back into it with a slight nudge from Clyde.

He kneeled before you and your heart stuttered. The way he was _looking_ at you. It shouldn’t be legal. It turned you to mush. If this is what his eyes did – Lord save you, what was the rest of him going to be like?

He pulled your boots off and then he paused, his hand on the upper part of his prosthetic.

“I should have asked but does it…” A ripple of vulnerability ran across his solemn features as he removed it, “bother you?”

“No.” You shook your head and leaned forward, carding your fingers through his luscious, dark hair. You revealed in the silky soft feeling of those tresses slipping through the gaps of your fingers. Clyde hummed in appreciation, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment, enjoying your affection. “It doesn’t bother me at all, Clyde. It doesn’t change how I see you.”

His eyes opened and sought yours, “How do you see me?”

Your heart slammed against your ribs and your mouth went dry.

“You’re a good man.”

Clyde surged forward and kissed you again – this time with more urgency, with hunger, and _need_. His large hand covered one of your breasts and you keened into the touch. Too many clothes, too many layers, you thought, with a frustrated pull at his shirt. Similar of mind, you felt Clyde yank down the front of your shirt and bra. He palmed your breast, running his thumb over your pebbled nipple, and you groaned into his mouth. That _mouth_. Plush and red and now lowering to your neck, your collarbones, before enveloping your nipple in wet heat.

You gathered fistfuls of his hair between your hands and his out a sharp exhale. His tongue laved over, flicking, and sending delicious pinpricks of lust to your already-soaked center. You squirmed, desperate for some kind of friction.

“Please, Clyde.”

“You’ve got such pretty tits.” He rasped against your skin, yanking your shirt down further to expose the other side, and then covering your nipple with his mouth. Your head lolled backwards into the couch cushions as he sucked and licked until it peaked under his tongue. The words he said, combined with the wicked things he was doing with his mouth, was enough to make you whine. He kissed his way back up to your mouth and his hand covered the apex of your thighs. You can feel the warm heat of his palm cupping your sex from outside your jeans and it’s _insane_ how big his hands are. How much of you they cover. Another lick of excitement shuddered through you.

He drew his mouth away, his next words in a gruff tone - “Take your pants off.”

He leaned back on his haunches as you stood to your full height. Your hands trembled as you unclasped your jeans and shimmed them off your legs. Were you really about to get eaten out in this man’s living room, on his couch? The hungry look in Clyde’s eyes answered that question. He pulled your underwear down and you kicked them out of the way.

“Stay standing.” For a moment, he admired you, eyes roving over your face and hips and legs and then finally – to your soaking cunt. He slid a finger along your folds, making you gasp and shiver at the light touch, “Already so wet for me.”

His finger slid into you with no resistance and your knees almost buckle at the sensation. You grip his shoulders for support as you stand there, legs partially akimbo, with Clyde kneeling between them. Each slow thrust of his finger made your lower stomach clench. You let out a shaky, weak breath. You feel the brush of his beard against your inner thigh before you feel his tongue – a hot swipe along your pussy.

His tongue skimmed along your clit and you shudder once more – a colorful expletive leaving your mouth. It’s not _enough_. It’s not enough pressure. He’s moving too slowly. Yet, you can feel yourself tightening and tightening with each lazy thrust of his finger and slow circle of his tongue around the hood of your clit.

Unable to help yourself, you tilt your hips towards his face, hoping he’ll get the idea. Clyde’s hand pulled away and you nearly sob at the sudden loss of his touch – “Sit down.”

“Please don’t stop.” You said before flopping back onto the cushions. Clyde’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes, showed the dimples in his cheeks, and you hurriedly lean forward to kiss him again. His hand spreads your legs open wide and then his thumb is teasing on your clit again. You moaned into his mouth, hips wiggling again, _eager_.

“Don’t be greedy.” He teased, easing you to the edge of the couch, and you almost suggest going to the bedroom instead – because surely it’s not comfortable for him to kneel in front of the couch – but then his mouth is on you again and you lose all coherent thought. Clyde’s thumb pressed into your clit as his tongue parted your dripping folds. His lips and tongue working across your aching cunt with lewd, sucking sounds. Each touch made your body quake, your thighs tremble, and you mindlessly hold the swell of each breast in your hand, teasing your own nipples. The onslaught of sensation is almost too much. _Almost_.

Clyde’s massive hand splayed out across your lower stomach pinning you in place while he licked and sucked at your core. Your heart beat an incessant staccato in your ribcage. Your hips rocked back and forth as he slid two fingers inside of you. “So tight.” He murmured, “You gonna be able to take me?”

“Yes.” You said with a whimper. Tightening and tightening – it was unbearable. His fingers pumped faster, adding a third and you squirmed once more, a muttered plea falling from your lips. Clyde took mercy on you because his lips were on your clit, his beard brushing against your sensitive skin, and he _sucked_. Your toes curled and a scream ripped through your throat as the orgasm hit you – burning you up from the inside out. Your head tossed back, pressing into the cushions, and distantly you could feel the warm, languid strokes of Clyde’s tongue sending aftershocks of pleasure through your body as he coaxed you from your climax. 

“You did so good.” He said, fingers slowing and pulling away. You blinked at him. Here you were – half dressed, thoroughly debauched, and Clyde was kneeling in front of you with all his clothes on with that dimpled smile on his face. It felt like a dream. He leaned forward and kissed you. Slow and deep and you could taste yourself on his lips. You pulled your shirt from your body, your bra, and then you pulled away from Clyde to help him with his shirt.

Your eyes greedily took in the pale expanse of his chest, the hair between his pecs, the moles and freckles that covered his skin – begging to be kissed.

“Wait.” Clyde stopped you before you could do just that. “Let me take you to the bedroom.”

It took several tries to get up from the couch. Clyde’s fault. He wouldn’t stop kissing you. Okay, also maybe you could take some of the blame, because you couldn’t stop running your hands across his chest. You hardly paid attention to any detail of his bedroom beyond the fact that there was a bed and you two were falling into it.

You kissed your way down his neck, pulling down his pants and then swallowing when you saw the impressive bulge in his briefs. You glanced up at him and slowly pulled down the last remaining clothing between you. Your heartbeat was somewhere between your legs now. You wrapped your fingers around his length and Clyde’s head flopped backward onto his pillows with a loud, husky groan. You smiled to yourself. It was always invigorating to bring a man to his knees with just a touch.

He said your name with a hiss as your tongue flattened against the head of his cock. You ran your tongue up and down the length of him before wrapping your lips around the tip and easing him into your mouth. You moaned in appreciation, unable to stop the thought that this – him – he’d be _inside_ of you. Your head bobbed slowly, jaw adjusting and aching to the size of him. Clyde’s hand fisted the blankets and his face went bright red.

Soon, his cock was slick with saliva and you were gliding up and down with relative ease. His hips jerked forward, making you gag around him –

“Fuck, sorry -! “

You pulled away, drool coating your chin, and placed light kisses to the side of his cock, “Don’t be.”

You crawled forward, straddling his hips, and teased the head of him at your entrance. He nodded at you, hand coming to your waist and settling there, his thumb pressing into your hip. Your lips parted in a soft cry as you lowered yourself onto him – big, big, he was so _big_. You could feel him stretching you with each inch and it felt better than good. It felt amazing. Your walls clenched and fluttered around him, trying to draw him deeper, and then you were seated with him fully inside you and you had to hold back the whimper in your throat.

“Fuck, Clyde. You feel – so – so good.”

“So, do you, darlin’.” His hand stroked up and down your side from your ribcage to your thigh. You planted your hands on the muscled planes of his stomach to steady yourself as you lifted yourself up. Another thrust, another delicious stretch, so tight and full. You moaned, your eyelids fluttering shut, and head tossed back, your hair tickling your spine.

“That’s right, baby…” He crooned, “Look at you, so good, taking all of me.” The praise falling from his mouth made your walls clench, the slick wetness of your juices coating your thighs. It takes several more thrusts before you’re comfortable and then you’re sliding, rocking up and down on his cock, and his hand curls around your throat. You feel him shift, bend his knees, and then he’s thrusting up into you as you’re coming _down_ and you’re gasping with each wet smack of skin. Your nails dig into him and Clyde groaned, more praise falling down around you. Every so often - He hits this spot inside of you that makes a hiccupped scream slip out.

Your elbows buckled and you lower your mouth to kiss him - to feel those soft plush lips against yours and feel his teeth nip at your lip. It was dizzying and overwhelming. Every sense was filled with him. He muttered filthy, wicked praise in your ear, and you clenched again, teeth digging into his shoulder with a desperate needy little moan. You were already close. _Again_. You nuzzle your nose into the damp tendrils of his dark hair, curling around his ears, and you can smell sweat and pine and it’s more intoxicating than any drink he’s ever made for you.

His grip tightened just enough to make you a little lightheaded, “Touch yourself for me.” He said, “I want to feel you come on my cock.”

Wordlessly, you obey, your hand snaking between your bodies and frantically rubbing your swollen clit. “Good.” His voice rumbled, “Keep going, _darlin’_. You’re so wet for me.” Wave after wave of pleasure hits you with the feeling of his cock pumping into you. Your walls clench once more and he let out a low, throaty chuckle.

Both of you are panting, the sound and scent of sex filling the room, as Clyde released your throat to hold your hip and keep you steady as his cock slammed into you. You plant your free hand on his chest and feel the strong pump of his heart against your palm. Your back arched, your cunt throbbing as your orgasm hits you with more intensity than you would have _expected_ – you cry out “Clyde!”, your mouth hanging open and body shuddering as you gush around his cock.

He barely gives you any time to recover before you’re rolled onto your back and he’s pulling out _almost_ all the way before slipping back inside. Each deliberate, smooth thrust makes you gasp, and you clutched his shoulders for the sake of _something_ to hold onto. He steadied himself, one elbow digging into the mattress near your ribs, his body curved towards your own. Your nipples graze against his chest as he thrusts, and it elicits small, pleasurable tingles down your spine.

“You feel incredible.” He groaned, “So, so, good. Like you were _made_ for me.”

“Yes, yes— _oh_!” His tongue sweeps over your nipple and he sucks it into his mouth, moaning and panting. His thrusts grow shallow and quick and despite the fact that your legs feel boneless – you wrap them around his hips. He leaned up to look at you – his darkened gaze hungrily tracing your face, your neck, and your breasts. 

“I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill you up.” He ground the words out and you nod, swallowing thickly. Your fingers card through his hair, pulling on the damp locks, “G-good. Want you to.” You can only form broken, barely coherent sentences. He’s unraveled you. You mind and body a blank white sheet of bliss and euphoria.

“ _Fuck_!” There’s a swell of pressure and warmth as you feel Clyde come, his hand squeezing your hip and pinning you with his cock fully sheathed inside you. Your pussy tightened with the fluttering aftershocks and you gasp – your eyes opening to see Clyde, red-faced and moaning above you. He rocked his hips forward, not withdrawing, clearly content to stay inside of you and come down from his peak.

You brought your mouth to his face, peppering light kisses across his sweaty brow and rosy cheeks.

“Mmph.” He reached his hand up, brushing your hair away from your face and smiling up at you.

Your heart swooped inside your chest.

“Let me get you cleaned up.” He rolled you to your side, carefully pulling out and climbing from the bed. You stare up at the bedroom ceiling – your hot skin rapidly cooling against the soft sheets, your pussy leaking his cum, and you realize that you’ve broken the first rule. You _are_ attached to Clyde. You were likely attached to him prior to the mind-blowing sex.

You run your fingers through your hair. _Fuck._

The smart thing would be to bail. Go back to D.C. Tell Sarah that you got attached and therefore could not complete her task, your mission. You should cut ties with the Logans. Just get the hell out of town before things got _more_ complicated.

You look over as Clyde returned, tissues in hand and your heart did that swoop motion again.

“I know this might seem like a backwards question…” Clyde said, “But, would you want to spend the night?”

You should say no. You should say no, go back to your hotel, pack your bags, and _leave_.

Instead, the corner of your mouth lifted in a smile, “I’d love to.”


	9. Chapter 9

* * *

The first thing you noticed upon waking was the solid, warm heat of Clyde’s chest pressing into your back. The weight of his arm on your waist. You blink at the golden light filtering into the bedroom through his blinds. Although you’re not sure what time it is – it _feels_ early.

Clyde pressed slow kiss to your shoulder. You roll over in his large bed, slipping an arm across his waist, and you can’t help but feel _comfortable_ and _well-rested._ You shift your leg and nestle it between his, he’s all tight muscle and heat.

You sigh, “Do we have to get up?”

“ _You_ don’t have to.” Clyde teased, “You can sleep in and I can make you breakfast.”

“Hmm. You’re a saint.”

You glance down at your naked, intertwined bodies. Clyde hasn’t attached his prosthetic back on and you’re glad for that fact. You recalled his embarrassment, his concern that you wouldn’t _want_ him because of the injury, and you lift your hand and rest it on his bicep. Your fingertips trailed across the skin until you met the tight, scarred tissue at the end. You hear and feel Clyde’s breathing change. Your eyes lift to his and he’s looking at you, lips parted, pupils blown wide and – He kisses you.

It’s slow and sweet and makes your stomach clench. It feels like honey dripping into your mouth. You draw your mouth away, “Lie on your back.”

He raised an eyebrow and shifted. You duck your head under the thin, cotton sheets. You place wet, open mouthed kisses across his chest and abs. Lower and lower, past his hips, to the juncture of between his thighs. Desire is pooling low in your belly and you want to make him as crazy as he made you last night. Fair is fair, after all.

You flick your tongue across him, and he squirms, large hand pulling away the sheets and grabbing the back of your skull. The cool morning air bites at your skin and hardens your nipples. You suppress a shiver as you run the flat of your tongue over him once more and his cock twitched against your mouth.

“Mm. I’m not dreamin’, am I?” He asked, his throat moving as he swallowed.

You can’t help but smile, “You’ve dreamed of this?”

“Plenty of times.” Bless him. He sounds breathless. You stroke your tongue around his swollen head and circle your hand around his stiff cock. You tease the head with sloppy, wet licks a few more times before slowly drawing him into your mouth and moaning around his length.

“Fuck, darlin’. You got no idea how good you look…” Clyde muttered, hand clutching and pulling your hair as you pulled him toward the back of your throat. You swallow and Clyde jerked his hips, still holding you in place, and then he’s thrusting slowly into your mouth. As if he’s not sure if you can take it. “That pretty mouth of yours sucking my cock – fuck – feels s-so good.”

Your saliva drips down your hand as it follows your mouth up and down his cock. He holds you, alternating between thrusting up into your mouth in shallow movements, and guiding your head with his hand. You moan again, pressing your thighs together as you realize that you’re wet from this. You consider touching yourself to relieve some of the tension, but it’s a delicious torture denying yourself. You wonder what he might say, what he might think, if you told him just how much he turned you on. He hits the back of your throat and you gag around him, tears springing to your eyes, but you don’t pull away. Another trickle of spit coating your hand and dripping onto the sheets.

Your name is a long, strained exhale from his lips, followed by, “I don’t know how long I can last. Your mouth – _fuck_. Oh. _Fuck_!” You bob your head faster as Clyde is no longer guiding your movements. His fingers fist your hair and pull again – sending another surge of desire straight to your core. The muscles in your neck ache from the angle, your lips numbing as you coat his cock in your drool and hollow out your cheeks to take him deeper.

Clyde tugged your hair, “Baby, I’m close – can I--?”

You pull away just for a hurried, “Yes”, to leave your lips and then your licking and sucking him back into your mouth. Your jaw aches with the paces you’ve set, but Clyde is grunting and panting, and his cheeks are flushed. So, you don’t stop. You squeeze his shaft, twisting your wrist as you suck his length.

Clyde warns you right before he finishes, and you feel the hot, salty jets of his come coat your tongue and hit the back of your throat. You don’t manage to swallow it all and it dribbles from your lips and onto your hand and his cock.

You look up at him and he gives you the sweetest, satisfied little smile, “Look at _you_ ,” His thumb trailed down your cheek, wiping away the spittle clinging to your lower lip, “Filthy girl. You loved that, didn’t you?”

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and grinned, “I did.” You crawl back up and settle beside him. He turned his head to look at you and captures your lips in a quick, chaste kiss. Even though there’s an aching, desperate throb between your legs, you’re content to rest beside him your lips tingle and the muscles of your neck relax. Not bad in terms of a morning after.

You feel Clyde’s fingertips skate across your lower stomach, “If you _really_ think I’m gonna sit here and not return the favor…” He shook his head, another kiss, before he’s letting his mouth trail down your body and you’re sighing dreamily with your hands tangling in his hair.

There had been this sense of _urgency_ last night. At least, that’s how you remember it. You had both been desperate for one another. A volcano finally erupting. As Clyde flattens his tongue along your folds and you gasp, arching into his tongue – you can’t help but acknowledge that this morning feels different. Clyde is wholly unhurried. He kisses your cunt, gliding his tongue into your wet center, and holding your thighs open just with the sheer breadth of his shoulders. He thrusts his tongue into you, and you whimper at the warm intrusion.

“Clyde,” You moan once more, yanking on his hair, and his finger replaces his tongue with a slick, wet sound. You glance down at him between your legs. His dark hair is mussed around his face from your ministrations, his face still flushed from his orgasm, and his eyes are shut. His long eyelashes kissing his pale, mole-dotted cheekbones. You watch with fascination as you see his tongue dart out from his mouth and lave across your throbbing clit. He takes the bud into his mouth and sucks and you can’t keep your eyes open. Your head thrashing back onto the pillows and your hips tilting up toward his wicked, eager mouth.

“You make the sweetest noises.” He rumbled, another finger sliding into you, “You gonna be loud for me, darlin’?” You think that his voice might be its own aphrodisiac. “Neighbors won’t hear ya. I promise.”

“You’d like that?” You asked, voice high and light.

“Very much.”

You bite your lip as his tongue circled your clit – lazy, teasing circles – and your breath catches in your throat. Clyde’s mouth covered your clit again as his fingers curled up and you can’t help the noise that escaped you. It’s somewhere between a groan and a scream. Your hips rock in time with his hand and your gasps soon turn into moans and your neck arched into the pillows. Your eyes rolling back in your head. You can feel the damp sweat dappling your forehead, your hands selfishly pulling Clyde close to your cunt, as his mouth works over your clit and his fingers thrust into you.

The edge you’ve been dancing on since you woke up is finally starting to crumble. Clyde must be able to tell you’re getting close because he’s sucking and moaning against your flesh and all it takes is one more and – _Stars!_ Actual stars swim in your vision as you scream out, the tension that was building snapping and igniting your body with spark after spark of bliss. You mindlessly grind your hips against his face as your orgasm hits you and you can feel Clyde’s tongue lapping at your folds as you come. Your legs trembling as you begin to crest and fall back into your body.

You blink back to reality and lift your head. Clyde’s resting his cheek on your inner thigh – his lips shiny and rosy as he grins up at you.

“How about that breakfast?”

You toss your head back onto the pillows and laugh.

XX

You manage to keep your spirits high throughout breakfast. Every time you have the thought of your job or Agent Grayson – you just look at Clyde and focus on being present. He looks so at ease here. Similar to how he looks when he’s at the bar. You’d think someone of his height and size would lumber around – maybe even be clumsy – but Clyde _isn’t_. He makes you coffee and cooks you breakfast, and your conversation is easy and light. There’s not morning-after awkwardness.

And thankfully, Clyde doesn’t pop the ‘ _what are we?’_ question. No matter how good you feel and how amazing the sex was – you’re not sure you can answer that question. Not yet.

Either way, you’ll have time to worry about your actions later. Right now, there are pancakes to eat and coffee to drink. Clyde cooks his bacon till it’s nearly burnt, and his toast is equally dark.

When he kisses you (which is nearly every few minutes), he tastes like maple syrup.

XX

“Come by the bar later?” He says before dropping you off in front of your motel. You spot the telltale cherry-red corvette that you know belongs to Mellie. You brace yourself for that conversation and can only hope that because she’s his sister, she won’t ask for too many details.

“Alright.” You lean over, kissing the corner of his mouth and the slide from his truck. He beeps his horn once before driving off.

“Well, well, well!” Mellie popped her head out from her car, “Same clothes as yesterday. That looks like a walk of shame to me.”

You dig in your bag for your motel key as Mellie gets out of her car.

“Nothing shameful about it.” You said, “Clyde was a perfect gentleman.”

“Course he was. I expect nothin’ less from that boy.” She snorted, falling into step behind you as you opened your motel door and headed over to the window to turn on the air conditioning.

“How was your date?” Mellie flopped onto your bed, kicking off her sandals and beaming.

“Good.” You bite your lip to stop the grin from splitting your face. There are honest-to-god butterflies in your stomach. “Really good. We didn’t – just to make sure the rumor mill doesn’t go crazy – we aren’t _dating_.” You decide to tell Mellie. You don’t need the town spreading gossip, though you’re sure it already has.

“Uh huh.” She doesn’t look or sound convinced. “Did he ask you out again?”

“He asked me to stop by the bar.” You said, stepping into the bathroom to peel off your clothes. As you do so – you catch sight of the locket you had left on the counter. Sarah’s locket. The USB hidden inside of it with her files on the heist and your own observations. Even though you didn’t have anything that connected the Logans and Bangs to the heist, you still had detailed reports of each individual. Including information that you put together based on your profiling skills after these past two months.

You stared at it, not listening as Mellie talked about her brothers, the thin two inches of wood separating her from the truth about who you were and what you were doing here.

In your mind’s eye – you could see what you wrote about Mellie. You could see her file. Her job history, her known addresses, her known connections (family, partners, friends). You wrote that she had an extroverted, empathetic, and organized personality. She played with her jewelry when she felt uncomfortable. How she fell into a caregiver role after her mother’s death and likely felt responsible toward her brothers (and always would).

You pulled the chain over your head and the locket sat between the valley of your breasts. It was too close to your heart. You swallowed and finished getting changed – trying to listen earnestly to whatever advice Mel was giving you but her words keep slipping through.

“I have a favor to ask.” She said once you stepped from the bathroom.

“Shoot.”

“My lease on my trailer, it’s got five months left, and I finally got approved to buy this cute little house.” She said, resting her palms on her sun-kissed knees, “I don’t wanna break the lease and fuck up my credit and you’ve had shits-luck finding your own place. I was hoping you could stay there for me. I wouldn’t even charge you the full rent ‘cuz you’re my friend and also kind of dating my brother.”

She smiled up at you.

For the second time in twenty-four hours – you should say _no_. You should walk away. If you accepted, you’d be locked in for another five months regardless of how the case turned out. Adding a lease into the mix would definitely be breaking rule two: _Keep it simple_. You would be legally bound to this town, to this place, to these people.

 _Your friends._ Your mind, traitorous as it was, reminded you.

“I don’t know.” You sighed, “Can I sleep on it?”

“Sure.” Mellie shrugged, “Just lemme know before the week ends cause if you wanna keep staying in this dingy motel, I’ll rent it out to someone else.”

“Hey!” You shoved her shoulder playfully, “This motel isn’t dingey!”

“They’ve had the same wallpaper since the seventies!” She waved, bracelets jingling, “I’ll catch you later, hon.”

The door shut and you sank onto the mattress and held your head in your hands. Everything that happened: Your date with the brooding, sweet bartender. The incredible sex with said bartender. Mellie offering you a place to stay – for _cheap_. Your boss providing little to no support on this. Your kinship with Jimmy, and Joe, and hell – even Sadie. The way this town welcomed you and wrapped you up. The way it offered you friendship, and protection, and security. More than your own one-bedroom in city with the potted cacti on the windowsill ever had.

Fuck, you were attached after the first two weeks. Rule number one: _Don’t get attached_ was thoroughly broken. Completely blown to smithereens. You inhaled a shaky breath and blinked away the blurriness from your tears.

Now, here you were, entertaining the idea of dating Clyde and living in a trailer that his sister would rent to you. _If_ you did that – it would dig you deeper into this family. Which meant that if you found the lead and pursued the case then you would be putting your boyfriend and his family in jail.

The dissonance of your thoughts echoed inside your mind as the air conditioner whirred beside you, teasing the light hairs around your temple.

_They broke the law._

_No one was hurt. Not seriously, anyway._

_Is there really such thing as a victimless crime?_

_Who is to say they won’t strike again?_

_You took an oath to solemnly uphold the Constitution – pretty sure there isn’t a section on money laundering in the Constitution._

_You’re not here in an official capacity! You could leave or tell Sarah you’re done--_

_What would she say? What would she think?_

_She trusted you with this. You can’t let her down._

_She’s left you on your own._

_Because she trusts you! You don’t need a babysitter. She knows what a good agent you are._

_Cracking this case would be great – sure. But there are other cases to solve. Ones with solid evidence, with witnesses, and families who desire closure._

You swallowed past the tightness in your throat. The memories of last night seeping into your heart – Clyde’s smile, his hand cradling your jaw before he kissed you, the mussed dark halo of his hair framing his face in the soft morning light, how his voice made you _melt…_

Then, as if the Universe was listening or mocking you, your phone lit up with Sarah’s number on the screen. You sniffled, wiping the snot from your nose with the bottom of your shirt before pressing the silence button.

You just _couldn’t_ deal with agent Grayson right now. She would be able to tell you were upset which would lead to questions that you didn’t want to answer. Truthfully, you didn’t know if she’d tell you to cut ties and head back home or if she’d see your emotional connection to Clyde as an opportunity to exploit.

You twisted your fingers together and looked at the tacky wallpaper that’s been your home for the last two months.

_Fuck it. I already broke one rule. Might as well keep breaking them._

After all, Sarah didn’t solve the case doing things her way.

Maybe it was time for a new set of rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been struggling with motivation these past few weeks. I hope everyone is doing well <3


	10. Chapter 10

* * *

Your stomach fluttered as you walked into the bar that evening and Clyde looked over at you – a smile tugging at his lips. Regardless of how you felt towards him, you still had a life and a career back in the city. You were on borrowed time here. You tried to keep that in mind as you slid into the barstool and folded your arms on top of the glossy surface.

“Evenin’ darlin’, what can I get you?”

“Can you make that orange colored cocktail again?” You asked, deciding a little liquid courage couldn’t hurt.

Another light smirk pulled at his mouth “Alright.”

The bar isn’t busy today. Not surprising. Clyde’s busiest days were Thursday to Sunday. Then, more so, if it happened to be a sporting event or something. As you waited for your drink, you observed the few patrons at the bar.

Earl was sitting with his beer, gaze toward the TV, listening as the news.

Two men you didn’t recognize were playing pool with intersperses of conversation.

You thanked Clyde as he set your drink in front of you, “So – Mellie asked me something today.”

He braced himself on the edge of the counter, tilting his head slightly and watching you with those dark, warm eyes. The memory of his mouth on your neck made liquid heat pool in your belly. You darted your eyes to your drink and pushed some of the ice around with the red stirrer.

You swallowed, then barreled forward, “She asked if I wanted to finish up her lease for her…get out of the motel and stuff.”

“That’s generous of her.” Clyde replied with a soft smile, “Are you gonna do it?”

You pressed your lips together, thinking.

“I want to.” You huffed, “What do you think?”

Clyde mulled it over – giving you ample time to watch the way his jaw tensed as he was thinking, how his eyes softened, and you wondered for a wild, impossible second if he was going to ask you to move in _with_ _him_.

“Well, I think if you want to, then you should do it. You know we’d help with moving and suchlike.” He said after a few seconds of quiet contemplation.

You couldn’t help but snort a short laugh.

“I don’t have much to my name.” You said, thinking of the few personal articles you brought with you and the suitcase full of clothes (both new and old).

“Are you glad you moved here, though…?” Clyde asked. You looked up at him and smiled.

The truth was easy to find.

“I am.”

Clyde’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles, “Me too, darlin’.”

You flush at the repeated use of the endearment. Even if you _could_ write it off as just southern hospitality – the fact remained was that Clyde didn’t use it on anyone else. You heard him call Sadie a ‘sweetheart’ a few times, but that was his niece. He didn’t throw around pet-names to the female patrons of the bar.

You watch Clyde as he licked his lips, “Come to downstairs with me. I need your help.”

“Sure.” You slide from your barstool and follow him with a tremble of anticipation in your stomach.

The moment your feet hit the bottom, Clyde spun around and kissed you. His muscular arms curling around your body and crushing you to him. Your fingers reach up and grasp the collar of his shirt and try to pull him closer. Your tongue sliding against his as you open your mouth and melt into the kiss, into him.

“Do you have any idea how cute you are when you blush?” He asked, pulling his mouth away from yours to plant a kiss on your cheek. Then your nose. Then your other cheek.

You laughed.

“Is that why you dragged me down here for an impromptu make-out?” You teased. Your hands slide up from his collar and grasp the back of his neck.

Clyde smirked at you, “I didn’t _drag_ ya. You came willingly.”

His mouth captured yours again. His tongue flicking your lower lip and sucking it into his mouth. You groan into him. There’s the cool touch of his prosthetic as his hand slides up your back and underneath your shirt. His large palm pressed into the middle of your spine and you smiled into his kiss.

“I was thinkin’…” He leaned his forehead against yours, “How about we go for a picnic tomorrow? You workin’ or anything?”

You thought about it.

“I gotta do the dinner run for Meals on Wheels around four.” You said with a little shrug, “Other than that, I’m free.”

“Good.” He gave you another one of those sweet, soft smiles. “I’ll pick you up at noon?”

“Okay.” You breathed the word out as you looked into his eyes. You lifted your hand and touched his cheek, letting your fingertips graze across the moles that dotted his pale face. Your fingertips caressed down his jaw, then to the short hairs of his beard, and then to his lips. His eyelids fluttered and his lips kissed the pad of your finger. 

You felt the slight pressure of his hand pressing into your back and you gasped as you recognized the hard bulge of his cock straining in his jeans.

He muttered your name, “See what you do to me?”

“Yeah.” You croaked out, heart hammering in your throat, as your hand drifted down his front. Then reached the hem of his shirt where you tugged it free and out of his pants.

His eyes flashed open and he pinned you with his stare.

You swallowed, “This okay? I mean – can we?” You glanced behind you at the stairwell and the door leading to the bar above.

“Depends on what you’re thinking.” He said with a soft smile. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“I’d just like to touch you.” You said quietly as you leaned up on your tiptoes to kiss him. You had one hand on the back of his neck, holding him close and kissing him with enthusiasm, and the other yanked his belt loose and then pulled down the zipper of his jeans. You palmed the hard length of his erection from the front of his boxer briefs and you swallowed his moan.

Clyde’s hand lifted and came to rest against the wall behind your head. You stroked him from outside the fabric before finally slipping your hand into his boxers and pulling his cock free. You nipped his lip before pulling away and raising your palm to his mouth.

“Spit.” You said, blinking up at him.

He spit into your hand and then you returned your grasp to his cock, wrapping your fingers tightly around his thick length. Clyde surged forward, locking lips with you again, and groaning into your mouth with each squeeze of his cock. You smirked – enjoying this shift in power – as you had him trembling and biting at your lips in desperation.

“I want to do something for _you_.” He said, voice raspy with lust.

“You _are_.” You replied with another little smirk as you twisted your wrist and drank in his flushed cheeks and dark eyes. This wasn’t the most romantic spot – which smelled like spilled beer and musk – but the thrill of potentially being caught, the excitement of having this towering, impressive man whimpering and moaning because of _your_ touch, it was making you wet. Even if you didn’t get off with him right now. You’d get off later to the memory of this moment.

“Oh, _god_.” He gasped, then grunted your name and his hips jerked into your tight grasp, “I’m gettin’ close, baby girl.”

“Good.” You purred, pumping faster, and grinning up at him as you watched his face contort with pleasure. His brows furrowed, his teeth sank down on his lower lip as he tried to keep quiet, and the blush on his cheeks had traveled down to his neck. His cock twitched inside your grip and then there was a low, guttural moan that escaped Clyde and you felt the hot, sticky wetness of his cum coat and dribble across your fingers. He was a mess. A _mess_ because of you.

You continued to stroke him and gradually slowed your pace. His large form quivered from the aftershocks of his orgasm and his chest heaving with labored breaths.

“Goddamn.” He whispered, looking down at his softening cock in your hand and the mess you had made together, “Let me get you a towel.”

Clyde tucked himself away and wiped your fingers with a wet towel while promising up and down that he’d make it up to you, that he’d make you feel just as good (if not _better_ ), and you just smiled from ear to ear. His words, this new memory, the way he _looked_ at you – it was compiling itself into a heady intoxication inside your bloodstream.

You could – you realized – get used to _this_. To Clyde and this life in West Virginia.

But it was best not to dwell on it. Not now.

XXX

By the time noon rolled around the following day, your body was jittery with excited nervousness. Clyde picked you up at the motel and you valiantly _resisted_ the urge to crawl into his lap. He drove about fifteen minutes outside of town, the truck bumping along a dirt road, and then a short, slightly inclined walk through a dense forest. You carried the picnic blanket while he carried the cooler.

The forest trail opened up to a soft, grassy hillside and you smiled at the rolling hills and vibrant green treetops against a bright blue sky. The warm breeze ruffled the hem of your dress and toyed with the loose strands of your hair. You glanced over at Clyde as he set the cooler down, dressed casually in T-shirt and jeans, his lips plush and begging to be kissed.

You wasted no time once the blanket was on the ground to straddle his waist, cup his face between your hands, and press your mouth to his. Clyde gave you a hum of contentment. His large hands squeezing your ass as you perched above him. Your lips slanted against his, pulling his soft lower lip between your teeth and nibbling softly. He made another content noise at the back of his throat.

“Ain’t you hungry?” He asked when you pulled away and you shook your head.

“Not yet.” You looked around. The sounds of songbirds and rustling leaves filling your ears. Your eyes returned to Clyde’s face, “How private is this spot?”

“Well…” His lips ghosted across your neck, the hair from his beard tickling your skin, “I think if you’re a _good girl_ and nice and quiet…” His words made your stomach flip. His tongue licked along the side of your neck, lips closing around your pulse point and sucking – making you arch into him and gasp softly. One hand shifted to your lower back, holding you steady and flush against him, and the other slid between your bodies. Your thighs were already spread wide to accommodate straddling his waist and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the pad of his index finger swipe along the apex of your thighs.

Clyde sucked harder against your skin as he pushed your panties to the side and slowly dipped his finger into your cunt. Your legs trembled and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop any sound from escaping. Your hands squeezing his shoulders as his finger slid back out of you and then back in. The wet, sucking sounds coming from beneath your dress – although you _knew_ it was quiet –felt like a symphony in your head. Clyde’s mouth worked along your neck, sucking and tongue laving across the flushed markings. He steadily pumped his finger, muttering sweet words to your throat, “Being so good, darlin’. So quiet.” He pushed a second finger, stretching you, “Gonna get you nice and ready so you can bounce on my cock, okay?”

You whimpered and nodded, hips shifting to try and match the pace he’d set. The metal fingers of his prosthetic dug into your lower back and you wondered what it might feel like against your skin. It was _still_ Clyde. A part of him. You looped an arm back, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to your chest, “Touch me.” You asked, voice light and breathless as your walls clenched around his fingers. You felt his thumb press and circle your clit, fingers stilling inside you. Clyde pulled down the front of your dress and your bra, your nipples peaked at the rush of air.

Before touching you, Clyde’s mouth enclosed around one nipple, sucking softly, and making your head fall back. His thumb still coaxing lazy circles around your clit. Content, as always, to tease you and make you whimper and gasp for more. The pleasure was building slowly – like a fire being start with just smoldering embers. His lips moved to your other nipple, treating it with the same soft sucking and rolling the bud between his lips. He leaned his head back and then cupped one breast with his prosthetic, the metal cool against your skin – you inhaled sharply.

“How does it feel, darlin’?” He asked, squeezing a little more.

“Good.” It was different. It wasn’t warm and calloused like his other hand, but it still felt _good._ He squeezed again, filling his palm, and then bringing your nipple back to his mouth, holding your tit as he sucked and started pumping his fingers once more. Your hands came to the dark, luxurious mop of hair on his hand and your fingers dug into his scalp. Your hips rocked into his hands, his fingers impaling you, his teeth biting down on your nipple.

You buried your nose into the top of his head, panting, as you felt your muscles tighten and your walls clench.

“Stay quiet.” Clyde reminded you, his voice rough, trailing wet kisses in the valley of your breasts. You bit down on your lower lip, hips rocking, desperate for friction, for release, and you whined as you felt his fingers curl inside of you.

For a long moment, there was nothing else but the songs of birds and the slick sound of Clyde pumping his fingers into your cunt. His thumb flicked lightly over your clit. You remembered that you were out in the open and a wicked, thrilling electricity went through you. It gave everything just a little _edge_. An excitement. A stranger could see you, all debauched as you were, your breasts pulled free from your dress, fucking yourself on this man’s hand, soaking the inside of your thighs with your juices.

“You like this.” Clyde said, not posed as a question with something like pride in his voice, “I want you to come, sweetheart.” He said, prosthetic reaching up and squeezing your jaw so he could tilt your mouth down to his. He kissed you hard, shoving his tongue into your mouth, laying claim, and sucking your lip between his teeth. You moaned into his mouth.

Small shockwaves of pleasure coursed through your body and your eyes squeezed shut as the familiar, exhilarating sensation of your orgasm made your body stiffen and quake around him. He kept his fingers inside you as you came, clenching around him, and waited until you blinked down at him with rosy cheeks and a satisfied smile.

He fell backwards onto the blanket, hand carefully pulling away from your core and to his belt-buckle, “You did so good, darlin’.” You shifted your hips up, making for more room. Your head was spinning, and your heart was hammering inside your chest. Clyde pulled himself free from his jeans and briefs, “Now, I want you to be good and fuck yourself on my cock. Nice and quiet.” His cock twitched in his hand as he held it by the base. You give a quick look around – just to ensure no families are about to wander through the woods and then you position yourself above him. Slick and stretched as you are, you slide down onto him and watch as Clyde’s throat moves as he swallows. It’s intoxicating, how good it feels, when he’s so thick and hard and your walls are clamping down, eager to pull him closer. To have him deep. You sink down, down, until your dress is a pool of fabric covering his waist and your joined bodies.

“Good.” He rasped, “Good girl.”

You shivered, hands coming to plant on his strong, muscled chest, woefully hidden by his t-shirt. You arch up, sliding up, then sink back down. Clyde’s hands come to your thighs, squeezing them as you move along his cock. It’s so, so _full_. You slide back down and roll your hips, his cock pressing against the back wall and it just feel so _amazing_ – that you’re unable to stop the low, breathy moan.

Clyde’s hips jerk and your walls clench on reflex, wetness pooling on your skin, “Be quiet for me, darlin’.”

Unable to speak, you nod, and press your lips tightly together. Your breath comes out through your nostrils in sharp, short intervals. You work yourself into a quicker pace, the wet friction causing a sheen of sweat to blossom on your skin. Clyde keeps his hands on your thighs, his eyes mesmerized as he watches you on him, your tits bouncing with each thrust. Your cunt squeezed around him, again and again, until your unable to focus – your hand lifting your dress up so you can touch yourself.

The rhythm that you two have found nearly takes your breath away. Your slick fingers stroke your clit with each thrust and it’s not long before you feel dizzy and euphoric. Your body is hot and tight and the feeling of his jeans rubbing against your calves, the pressure of his large hands on your thighs, and the way he _looks_ at you – eyes dark, face flushed, lips parted like he wants to devour you.

“You gonna be a good girl and come on my cock?” He asked, hips suddenly snapping upward and tearing another whimpered gasp from your throat. “Want you to.” He ground out, his voice dark, “All over my cock.” He thrusts up into you, keeping you steady, as his cock hits that deep place that causes wave after wave of pleasure to hit you.

You’re panting, sweat on your brow, trying so desperately hard to stay quiet, as he fucks you. The second orgasm swells and swells until your toes are curling and you rush to cover your mouth with your free hand right before the moan breaks free. Your body trembled as the liquid heat pours across your body, sending your eyes rolling back into your head, and fireworks exploding in your veins.

You shudder as you feel Clyde bury himself to the hilt, his lips pressed tightly together to stop himself from crying out. You could feel the twitch of his cock inside you as he came, his body spasming and trembling beneath you, and unable to hold yourself upright any longer – you fall forward into his chest and laugh.

He kissed the top of your head, a smile toying at his lips, “Now, you _must_ be hungry after that.”

You propped your head up, kissing him sweetly, “I think so.” Your body felt pleasantly boneless and relaxed and you laid back on the picnic blanket, watching the fluffy white clouds lazily move across the sky, while Clyde put together your lunches. Inside the cooler, he brought water, fruit, crackers, and cheeses. 

You sat with your shoulder nestled against his side as he plucked ripe, purple grapes from the stem and fed a few to you. The afterglow was spent in comfortable, cozy silence. You twisted off the cap of your bottled water and enjoyed the simple delight of its coldness filling your mouth and easing your parched throat.

You glanced over at Clyde, “Can I ask about your tattoo?” You said, lifting your other hand to touch the design on his forearm.

“You may.” His lips quirked upward. It was of a skull wearing a beret, with two wings by the jaw, and a sword coming through the top of the skull, with a banner that read: _Death before dishonor._ Even though you could’ve searched through Google to try and ascertain it’s meaning, you didn’t want to _assume,_ and now that you’ve seen him naked – you know this is his only tattoo. So, you figured it must have some kind of special meaning. And you, selfishly, wanted to hear it from him.

“What does it mean?” 

Clyde looked down at the ink. His face pensive.

“I was in the Army Rangers.” He explained, “They’re an airborne light infantry combat formation within the United States Special Ops.”

You let this information sink in. No wonder his military records were classified. It was too easy to recall the horrors of war and ruminate on what Clyde might’ve seen or gone through during either of his tours. If he was Special Ops, then it was possible that his unit was first on the ground. You peeked up at him and found him staring at you, lower lip pushed out in a pout.

“Clyde.” You let your fingertips stroke the tattoo, following the lines of ink, “Thank you for telling me. I can’t imagine what it was like and…well…I’m glad you made it back home.”

“Me too.” He leaned down and kissed you – tasting of strawberries. Your heart ached painfully in your chest. You wished you could tell him about your life. But what was there to say that wouldn’t jeopardize your mission? If you told him about your family, there was a chance he might look them up and find out who you really were. Yet, the closer you got to him, the more it felt like _lying_.

You finished your picnic shortly after that and got into his truck feeling strangely empty.

“Do you want to spend the night at my place?” Clyde asked while driving.

You looked out the window at the passing greenery of trees and tucked-away homes. The weight on your chest lightened.

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reader-Chan is like "I will avoid my problems." 
> 
> Also, yeah, like expect explicit sexual content for the next like...3 chapters? Probably? There will be plot, too.


	11. Chapter 11

* * *

Clyde’s bed is about a thousand times more comfortable than yours back at the motel. It also helps that his tree-trunk sized arm is resting heavily over your waist, the heat of his bare chest nestled to your back, your toes tucked between his warm calves. You feel snug and safe. The heavy pull of dreams drags you under into a soundless, comfortable sleep.

At least, it is comfortable, until you feel Clyde jerk backwards and grunt – as if in pain. You sit up, groping in the darkness and your hands meet his muscular arm. The skin is clammy to the touch. He grumbled again, muttering, and tossing onto his other side.

The only light is the ethereal, pale ghost of the moon peeking through his heavy curtains.

“Clyde?” You ventured, voice soft, “Clyde?”

Gentle as ever, you shake his shoulder and Clyde bolts upright – chest heaving, eyes wildly searching in the vague darkness. He turned his face to you and your name was a whisper on his lips.

“I need to check the house.” He said with urgency. His shoulder vanished from underneath your palm as he tossed his blankets aside and stalked out into the hallway. The room now empty, you leaned over and flicked on the bedside lamp and blinked as the bright light hurt your eyes. You sat with your knees close to your chest, hearing Clyde walk through the house and opening and closing doors, with your heart uncomfortably lodged in your throat.

The minutes stretched on. Should you go help him? Why does he want to check the house? Is there some type of crime in this area? (Seems _unlikely_ , given the fact that his cabin is set away from the main road), and if someone broke in – you would’ve heard it. Or at least, you _think_ you would have. The longer Clyde is gone, the more paranoia creeps into your thoughts and soon you’re cracking your knuckles out of nervous habit.

Unable to move from the bed out of some imagined fear that perhaps someone _did_ break in – you tentatively call out, “Clyde?”

His broad-shouldered form fills the doorway, “It’s fine, darlin’. Go back to bed.”

The smile you offer him is a little weak around the edges.

“Can we talk first?”

He turned his head to the side, looking down the hallway once more, and then slowly nods. The mattress sinks under his weight as he takes a seat by your covered legs. His warm eyes have a far-off look to them, and you can see the tension in the hunch of his shoulders. In the yellow-white glow of the lamp, you can see the slight gloss of sweat on his skin, and the erratic jump of his pulse in his throat.

“Bad dreams?”

He nodded.

“I’m sorry.” You offer, extending your hand to him, but not touching.

His large fingers cover your own, “Sorry if I worried ya.”

“I’m here…” You said, “If you ever want to talk. It doesn’t have to be right _now_.”

“Thank you.” He gently squeezed your hand.

“Is the house okay?”

He nodded again.

“I probably won’t be getting anymore sleep.” He admitted.

Your heart clenched and you wondered how many times your heart would ache for him. This _man_. For all his gentleness, all his mannerisms and soft-spoken smiles, you know that there were memories of violence and bloodshed in his military career. Even though Clyde was closed lipped about what happened overseas, you knew enough from interacting with veterans back at the Bureau.

“That’s okay.” Your thumb rubbed against his, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Clyde thinks for a moment. You watch as his lower lip juts slightly in a pout, his eyes skyward to the ceiling.

“No, I’m – you _are_ helping.”

You sat in the quiet together, holding hands. You could hear the wind rustling through the leaves on the trees overhead. He squeezed your hand once more before getting up and kissing your forehead. Your hand snaked up, clutching the front of his loose t-shirt before he could pull away – “Please, Clyde, if there’s anything more I can do for you.”

He looked down at you with a soft, charming smile.

“I will.” He kissed you. There was nothing lustful or heated about it. It was a simple, chaste kiss. A symphony of butterflies erupted in your stomach. It felt _good_ to be kissed like this. No urgency, no demand, just lips meeting and sharing a moment of serenity together. Perhaps it wasn’t just the kiss, you thought, as Clyde pulled away and caressed the side of your face with his knuckles. Perhaps it was just him and the way he never failed to make you feel safe and cared for. Even when you wanted to be the one to care for him.

“I’ll try to come to bed soon.” He said, reaching over to turn off the lamp, “I’m going to go read for a little bit.”

After Clyde left the room and closed the door semi-partway, you laid on your back and stared up at the dark ceiling. You don’t think you’ll be able to sleep.

Because now you’re thinking about Agent Sarah Grayson.

Your job.

Your whole reason for being _here_.

Could Clyde have bought this house with the money from the heist? You run your fingertips across the smooth, cotton sheets. It’s _possible_. You didn’t know the cut each member got. But if someone had several millions of dollars – why buy a little two bedroom in the woods? He could’ve purchased something much larger. He drove a modest vehicle that was a few years old (you recalled that you had looked up the last known retail price and it was tucked away in your digital files).

Then, there was his brother. Through conversation, you knew Jimmy had a house as well, but you hadn’t seen it. Is that what they did? Stole the money then just made sure they were comfortable with modest homes and cars? Put away money for Sadie’s college? Again, was that **_really_** so bad?

 _Of course, it is. They broke the law._ A voice that sounds far too much like Agent Grayson pops into your head.

_No one was hurt, though. NASCAR doesn’t care about the missing money._

_It’s not about that. It’s the principal._ The voice reminds you, stern and unforgiving. _If they get away with it, then anyone could try, and then it’ll be lawless anarchy._

Your chest feels strangely tight. You roll onto your side, taking a spare pillow and wrapping both arms around it, hugging it close to your chest. The circular thoughts have no end. Your job, your duty to Sarah, the fact that you are living a lie eats at you.

What would Mellie say if she found out? What would Clyde say? What would any of them do if they discovered that you worked for the Feds? That you were only here to try and discover the truth of the heist and potentially charge them with federal crimes and prosecute them with jail time?

_They would throw you out._

The thought bites.

It’s cold and harsh against the back of your throat.

_They would leave you._

_They would never speak to you again and with good reason._

You nuzzle your face into the pillow. It smells like Clyde. Woodsy and warm. Like pine trees and bourbon.

You have to decide and soon. You have to choose whether you’re going to stay here and pursue the case or if you’re going to leave, get back to the city, back to your **real** life. You know in your heart of hearts that you can’t manipulate Clyde. So, if you stay, that means breaking this off with him. It means trying to be just friends. That might make the betrayal easier if you do crack the assignment and discover the truth.

It just seems so hopeless. You haven’t found any clues or insight into the heist. No evidence. No paper trail. What if you told Sarah that it was a dead end? That you tried your best and it didn’t work out? That the Logans covered their tracks and this mystery would never be solved. Would Sarah even accept it? Or would she send another agent in your place?

You thought of the new rules that you crafted a few days ago.

  1. _Be smart about your actions and consider all the angles and consequences._
  2. _Make sure any evidence you find is absolutely **solid**. Nothing circumstantial. Do not tell Sarah anything unless it is concrete and can hold up in court._
  3. _They are more than just suspects in a case. They’re people who care about you._



That was the tricky part, wasn’t it? It wasn’t just Clyde who liked you. His sister did. His brother. Various members of the community had taken a shine to you. Despite trying to keep a low profile, you made an impression. The longer you stayed here, the stronger those connections became, and the harder it was to think about turning _any_ of them in even if you found something.

 _What if I gave myself one more week?_ You thought, deciding that a deadline was necessary. _Seven days to really buckle down and focus and find something **real**. Something that could be brought before a judge and jury. And if those seven days pass with still no evidence after really, really searching, then I let it go. Then I can decide if I want to stay here for the rest of my vacation time or head back home._

Somewhat satisfied with a plan in the works, you manage to quiet the anxious thoughts and lull yourself back to sleep.

You only wake when you feel Clyde climbing into bed next to you and pulling you close to his chest. Your face pressed against his throat, his pulse thrumming on the tip of your nose. You cling to him and he doesn’t seem to mind.

XXX

You slip from the bed sheets before Clyde wakes. Your bare feed padding across the dark cherrywood floors, the morning air nipping at your exposed skin as you carefully leave the bedroom and walk down the hall to the second bedroom. You wince under your breath as the door creaks and you shoot a paranoid glance over your shoulder, ears straining to hear any noise coming from Clyde’s bedroom.

It’s silent – save for the morning birds chirping outside. Your heart beats hard inside your chest.

The second bedroom contains very little furniture. There’s a bench press with weights near the window, a three-tier filling cabinet in the corner, and a wood paneled closet. You step into the room and adrenaline quickens your movements. 

First, you slide open the closet and find two suits hanging. You push them aside and feel along the walls, checking for any loose panels or hidden compartments. You peer up on your tiptoes to the shelve above the suits and pull down the shoe boxes that are stored up there. There’s also stacks of books but you don’t have time to flip through every novel Clyde owns.

The first one contains a pair of black loafers. The second has old Polaroids –a gangly, dark haired teen with big ears, a boy (you assume it’s Jimmy) wearing a football uniform, Mellie dressed for prom, baby photos of Sadie, and a few of an older man and woman that you assume are Clyde’s parents. You close up the boxes and tuck them back onto the shelf and close the closet.

You slowly pull open the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. Your fingers swiftly walk along each tab – the files marked with the years. You pull out the most recent year and open it – _taxes_. Your eyes speed read the information, just catching keywords, and you piece together that these are just the tax reports for the Duck Tape – Clyde’s business. Your time is too limited to try and go over them and find any discrepancies or odd business write-offs.

You slide it back into place. You sit up on your knees, closing the bottom drawer, and opening the middle one. It’s organized with files named ‘Birth Certificate’, ‘Medical Bills’, ‘Veterans Affairs’ and so on. You pick a few at random and do another quick, cursory glance, just checking numbers and trying to see if anything stands out. There's bills for therapy, both physical and mental, and annual check-ups. 

All the while your heart is thundering inside your chest and your stomach flips at each creak of the house settling.

You shut the middle draw and straighten to your full height. Your fingers feel clammy as you grasp the cool metal handle of the cabinet. You tug and it doesn’t budge. A strange mix of dread and anticipation flows through you.

It’s locked, but _why_?

You feel along the sides, dropping back down to your knees to see if a key is taped or hidden somewhere along the edges of the cabinet. No such luck, of course.

You chew your lip and back away from the cabinet and tiptoe out of the room. There’s not enough time to try and find a key or pick the lock. It’ll have to be another day.

As you walk down the hallway, you peak into Clyde’s bedroom and find him still sleeping, all sprawled out on his king-sized bed. A flicker of affection warms your chest.

You make your way to the kitchen and busy yourself with making coffee for the both of you. You lean against the counter, looking out he window as the coffee maker whirrs next to you, the flavorful scent filling your nostrils.

It’s a beautiful cloudless morning. There’s something to appreciate about Clyde’s modest home and how the windows all just point to an expanse of oaks and evergreens. You watch a little squirrel dart across the lawn and clamber up a tree.

“Mornin darlin’.”

Your heart leaps as you spin around to see Clyde entering the kitchen, silent as a ghost. How could someone so tall and large be so _quiet_?

“Morning!” You hope your voice sounds normal. Because in that moment – you’re thinking about the second bedroom and if you put everything back where it belonged. You’re pretty sure you did. It doesn’t stop the paranoid thoughts from creeping in, however. “I made coffee.” You nod toward the coffee machine, still spitting coffee into the pot.

“I see that.” He smiles slowly and pulls you into his arms, resting his chin on the top of your head, “Can I treat you to breakfast?”

You loop your arms loosely around his waist, “Sure. You wanna cook or you wanna go out?”

“I was thinkin’ I could take you out.”

“I’ll have to stop home to change.”

You felt Clyde hum as your cheek was pressed against his chest.

“You should probably keep a few things here.” Clyde offers, “Change of clothes or something, just in case.”

You press your lips together. It feels _serious_ – what he’s saying. It implies that he wants to keep you around, that he wants you to stay here more, that he _likes_ having you here. The knowledge of that assumption makes everything inside you feel like it’s on fire.

“Okay.”

You feel his lips press to the top of your head. You stay standing like that, embraced, until the coffee is done.

XXX

It’s over breakfast in a tiny diner that keeps playing ‘ _Tom Petty’s Greatest Hits’_ that you learn more about Clyde. You’re not sure how you got onto the topic of parents. Maybe it was the thought of all those photographs filling up three-quarters of a shoe box that prompted the conversation to take an organic turn to his upbringing.

“My father’s name was Nathan,” Clyde said, a piece of darkened bacon between his fingers, “My ma was Elizabeth, but most folk called her Bess.”

You knew this. It was in his file.

“Dad was a carpenter. He was…” He gave a slight smile, “Mighty handy. He could fix anything in the house. Anything that needed fixin, he’d figure it out or come up with his own solution rather than callin’ someone else.”

“Sounds like a good guy to have around.”

“He was.” Clyde looked down at his plate, “He passed not too long after Ma did.”

You swallowed and reached a hand across the sticky, plastic table, “I’m sorry.”

He slid his hand into yours, playing with your much-smaller fingers, “It’s alright. They were good people and they raised us right. I’m glad I had the time I did with them.” He’s quiet for a moment as he pops the slice of bacon into his mouth.

“What was your mom like?” You asked after the waitress had come and refilled your drinks.

Clyde chuckled, “She kept us in line.” His smile was a touch sad, and a touch longing, and for a second you wondered if you should back away from this topic. “She had a big heart and she – “He cleared his throat, “She was good. That’s what I always remember. She was kind to others without expectin’ anything in return.”

His eyes lifted from his plate and met yours, “What about you? What’s your family like?”

Internally, you panicked. Externally, you took a sip of water to buy yourself some time.

“Oh, you know...” You shrugged. “Pretty normal, I guess.” Your brain struggled to restart and reboot, desperately hoping to piece together some threads of truth without giving _too much_ away. Yet, at the same time, you didn’t want to outright lie. If you gave Clyde fake names and backstories, you’d need to remember those fake names and stories. Too much complication, too much room for error, and too many variables that could result in someone getting hurt.

You took a deep breath, “I don’t talk to them much.” That was the truth even if it was painful.

You felt his fingers squeeze yours.

“I’m sorry.” He paused for a moment, “I won’t press you as for reasons why but…for what it’s worth, they’re missing out. You’re an incredible woman and I consider myself lucky to know you.”

Your face flushed hotly, and you ducked your chin to your chest.

The waitress came back with the check and you left the diner hand-in-hand.

XXX

Clyde has to work for the afternoon into the evening, but you drive to his house after his shift with an overnight bag filled with a couple outfits and a new toothbrush. As you enter, you catch a savory scent from food roasting in the oven and the sight of a wine bottle on the counter top.

“Clyde,” You drop your bag on the floor, “You didn’t need to do all this.” A twinge of guilt rears its ugly head. That you don’t _deserve_ this. You squash it down.

He tossed the dish towel over his flanneled shoulder, “I wanted to.” He points to the glasses near the bottle, “Pour us some wine, dinner is almost done.”

You perch on the edge of the counter-top with your wineglass in hand, content to watch him move about the kitchen and sip the dark red wine. He asks about your day, which was mostly uneventful after you two parted ways when he had to go and open the bar. He fills you in about Joe Bang’s recent escapade into _‘Speed Dating’_ in which the man thought it was dating in fast cars.

You hop from the counter to set the table as Clyde pulls the food from the oven. The wafting smell of it making your stomach grumble.

You wait until you’re both seated to announce the big news.

“I’m gonna move into Mellie’s old place.”

His face lights up. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You bit your lower lip, “I don’t want to keep staying in the motel. It’s not viable for the long term and kind of claustrophobic if I’m being honest.” You shrug a little, “I don’t know if I’ll stay there forever but Mellie made it seem like it could be flexible. I just…” A beat passes, “I think it’ll be good to have my own space.”

Clyde’s smile is easy and crinkles his eyes at the corners. God, it feels _good_ to be on the receiving end of his smile.

“I think that’s great, darlin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that I captured the night-terror respectfully & gently. I have friends who struggle with PTSD and it's no joke and everything manifests differently. I have a HC that Clyde Logan, serving 2 tours in Iraq, and losing a limb would struggle with PTSD. It won't be something I explore super deeply in this fic. Nor is it something like "uwu~ trauma~" It's just a part of his life. An aspect that he manages and deals with and some days are better than others. 
> 
> Clyde's parents names/their backstory - totally made up By me. 
> 
> There was gonna be smut, but then I was like "NAH KEEP IT FLUFFY. ITS CUTE." :)
> 
> I want to thank everyone for their VERY SWEET comments! I love u all and I love writing this and sharing this story with you <3


	12. Chapter 12

* * *

Moving into Mellie’s was easy considering all you had were two suitcases to your name. It was moving her _out_ that proved to be the difficult part. Your tank top was damp with sweat and your muscles protested sweetly from the strain of lifting boxes and crates.

The oppressive summer heat made it feel as if the air you sucked into your lungs was heavy and thick, like molasses. You heaved the box over into Jimmy’s arms and jogged back into her trailer. Well, it was _your_ trailer now. It was one bedroom, one bathroom, but it suited you just fine. The lease was only for five months. You hadn’t decided if you were going to stay for the whole term or not.

You figured you could make that decision once the seven days had passed. 

“Hey, hon! Can you grab the box on the floor of my bedroom?” Mellie asked as she maneuvered around you carrying a small box labeled ‘UTENSILS’.

“Sure, yeah.” You wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand. You walked into the trailer and down the short hallway into Mellie’s old bedroom. Everything had been cleared out, save for a few boxes on the floor. You bend down to lift the box when your eyes catch a slip of yellow paper peeking out from underneath it. You push the box aside – not sure if it’s garbage or something important.

It’s a copy of the receipt for Mellie’s car. Your heart rate jumps. _Paid in Cash –_ is stamped in red on the bottom of the bill. $ _32,000, paid in cash._ You swallow and lift the receipt up, glancing over it once more, and checking the date. It was purchased two months _after_ the FBI had closed the case on the Hillbilly Heist.

You hear a voice call out your name, “In here!” You quickly replied, crumbling the bill, and stuffing it into the back pocket of your jean shorts. You grab the box and lift it from the floor just as Clyde entered the room.

“You got that?” Clyde asked, eyes darting to the box in your hands. You nodded and tried to ignore the rush of adrenaline thrumming through your veins. Mellie Logan paid for a new car in cash. This receipt had the name of the dealership, who sold her the car, and the taxes paid. This was the first paper trail you’ve found. You could _use_ this. Your mouth felt strangely dry. Why didn’t you feel excited? Or _relieved_ that you found something?

You moved aside while Clyde grabbed the other box and you followed him out the door.

“Whew!” Mellie slapped her hand against the hood of Jimmy’s truck, “That’s the last of it!”

“We still gotta bring it to your new place, Mels.” Jimmy reminded her with a sniff of his nose.

“Well, don’t you worry, I got plenty of beers in the fridge and pizza waitin’.” Mellie pulled open the passenger side door, “C’mon.”

XXX

The afternoon is spent loading boxes into Mellie’s new house. It’s _cute_. She gives all of you the grand tour. It’s got a front porch, a big backyard, and garage (she’s mostly excited about the garage). You sit on the floor of her living room and drink beers together and eat pizza. The Bang Brothers show up around an hour later with the moving truck with the rest of Mellie’s furniture and while the boys are loading in her couch and bedframe and mattress, you and Mellie go into her kitchen and start unpacking.

“So,” She wiggled her eyebrows, “You and my brother, huh?”

You point a wooden spoon at her, “Shut up.”

“Aw, come on! We’ve barely talked! Last we spoke you said ya’ll weren’t dating…but this looks an awful lot like dating.”

You pulled open a drawer and started stacking away the forks, knives, and spoons. It was easier to focus on the silverware than to be under the friendly, yet perceptive gaze of the Logan sister.

“I don’t know what you want to hear.” You said.

“I don’t want no dirty details if that’s what you’re saying- I just mean-? Is he treatin’ you right? Cuz if he ain’t—” You glanced up at her and saw that she was holding a wine opener and making a jabbing motion. You laughed.

“Clyde’s great.” You chew your lip to stop from smiling, “He took me on a picnic.” Your walls clenched at the memory of that afternoon, his fingers buried deep inside you, his mouth at your throat telling you to ‘ _be a good girl and keep quiet’._ You could feel the blush creep up and burn your ears. “And we got breakfast at this little diner that’s off of Shoe Hill Road—”

“I know the one.” Mellie said with a nod, “I busted tables there when I was fifteen.” She turned her back to you as she put away some plates in a cabinet. In the other room, you could hear Jimmy grumbling to Joe to lift higher.

“So, you’re _not_ dating?” She pressed as she spun back around to look at you.

You huffed a soft sigh.

“We haven’t talked about it.” Your brow furrowed, “He asked me to keep some stuff at his house though.”

Mellie’s eyes went wide, “Shit!” Before you could react, she closed the distance between you and threw her arms around you. She smelled of sweat and roses and she laughed as she squeezed you to her chest. She pulled away, bright white smile, “Honey, I know you’re still new, so I’ll make it simple – my brother ain’t the type for hookups. I knew he fancied you from the moment you walked into his bar, but he must **_really_** like you if he’s got you keeping a toothbrush at his house.”

You picked your jaw up, “You think so?”

“I know it.” Mellie grinned and stepped away, returning to her task of unpacking her plates, “You better not break his heart.” She said with a playful wink.

Your eyes fell to the floor and you crouched down to open another box. Mellie might know her brothers well, but she wasn’t an expert on them. The only person who knew Clyde’s feelings was Clyde. You were going to try your hardest not to read into this interaction too much. Only react and go by what you _knew_.

You knew Clyde liked having you around. He wouldn’t have you keep a change of clothes and a toothbrush at his place if he didn’t. You knew he considered himself lucky to know you. You knew he was physically and sexually attracted to you. But, in terms of his emotional feelings towards you? They were a mystery.

And for right now – you were okay with keeping them a mystery. You didn’t even know your own feelings towards Clyde. You felt like you couldn’t even touch that part of your psyche until the next six days passed and you confirmed whether or not pursuing the case was worthwhile.

The bill of sale in your back pocket burned.

 _Tonight,_ you swore to yourself, _I’ll look into this receipt and do some digging on Mellie. I’ll keep my promise and work every angle._

Only after **that** could you work through your feelings and possibly talk to Clyde about his.

“Are you seeing anyone?” You asked after the boys had passed by with Mellie’s mattress.

She shook her head, “Nah. A couple dates here and there but nothing…” She fiddled with her faux-turquoise and silver necklace, “I wanna find that spark.” She snapped her fingers at the word ‘spark’ and smiled, “If you know anyone where you’re from, send them this way.”

You chuckled, “Uhhh do you like guys in suits?”

“Are they wearing the suits all the time?”

You smiled at her with both eyebrows raised and the two of you broke out into another round of laughter.

“Gosh, I dunno.” She wiped her hands on her shorts, “I admit, I like a guy who knows how to get his hands dirty.”

“You talkin’ about me, sweetheart?” Joe Bang said, suddenly entering the kitchen from the hallway.

Mellie rolled her eyes at him, “You wish. Ya’ll done in there?”

You returned to unpacking, content to tune out from the conversation. Until you felt a hand on your shoulder and looked over to see Clyde smiling at you. His large hand squeezed your shoulder. You could feel the callouses, the warmth, and it sent a shiver down your spine. It had only been two _days_. You tilted your head to the side, pressing your cheek to the back of his hand and closing your eyes for a second.

“We gotta make another run, you alright to stay here?”

“Mhm.”

He squeezed your shoulder again and then leaned down, kissing your sticky and flushed cheek.

“GET A ROOM!” Joe yelled from behind you.

“Gladly.” You muttered to yourself, causing Clyde to snicker. He leaned down to kiss you – this time – on the mouth. You felt his tongue slide along the seam of your lower lip, and you resisted the urge to groan into his mouth. You heard Joe give a wolf whistle behind you.

“Later.” He whispered to your lips and then pulled away. It felt like a promise.

Once the house had cleared out once more, you and Mellie fell into a routine of unpacking. You had frequent breaks to eat the leftover pizza and chat. Mellie, of course, knew plenty of gossip and was happy to share all the interesting tidbits of small-town drama. Then, she told you all about her new car project, and an upcoming fashion show that she was getting to do the makeup on, and then she dragged you to her bedroom to help you go through her clothes and decide what to keep and what to donate.

“You probably should have done this before you moved.” You said, holding up a white blouse.

“Toss.” Mellie pointed to the blouse, “It’s fine. Besides, I wanted to do it with you.” She shrugged.

The center of your chest felt warm. You smiled to yourself as you picked up another top and Mellie made a face – “Oh, yeah, toss. That top never looked good on me.”

XXX

You drove with Mellie back to her old trailer aka: your new place so she could pick up her car and you could get settled.

“What’s Clyde’s truck doin’ here?” Mellie asked before nudging you in the side with her elbow. “Hmm? HMMM??”

You bumped her elbow away, “Would you stop?” You said, voice teasing.

“Thanks for all your help today, hon.” Mellie said, embracing you briefly, “Text me if you want to have a girl’s night or something, okay?”

You smiled, “You got it.” You watched as her car pulled out of the graveled driveway, tires crushing the small rocks, and then she sped off down the road. She beeped her horn at you, and you waved. You turned back towards your new home and your stomach fluttered. Anticipation coiled in your gut as you walked toward and into your place.

The door opened-

“Ah- holy shit.” One hand still on the doorknob, you stared into the once-empty living room to find it completely furnished. It was a little sparse with no art on the walls but there was a couch, a coffee table, a television, and a blanket thrown over the cushions. A large jar candle was lit and burning on the coffee table – it smelled like vanilla. You stepped past into the threshold, closing the door behind you, and you tentatively walked forward into the living room. It opened into the kitchen, which didn’t look much different from this morning, and you turned to the right – walking down the small hallway toward the bedroom.

“Clyde?” You pushed open the door and your heart sputtered inside your chest. Clyde was hunched over a new mattress, pulling a fitted sheet over the corner. He looked over at you, a lopsided grin gracing his features.

“Surprise, darlin’.”

“You got me-you did?” You pointed behind you, “All this?”

He finished adjusting the sheet and walked toward you, “It was a group effort.” He said, placing his hands on your waist and bending down to kiss you sweetly. “We couldn’t let you move in without a bed.”

“Goodness.” You shook your head trying to chase away the feeling of disbelief.

“Mhm.” His hands rubbed your lower back, dipping down and squeezing the swell of your ass, “So, shower before or after?”

“Before.” You said, straining on your tiptoes for another kiss. Clyde, gentleman that he was, happily obliged. His tongue dipped into your mouth and you sighed, content, as he guided your body backwards and to the adjoining door where the bathroom was. He pressed your back up against the glass shower door and his hands slid around to your front, pushing up your shirt, and squeezing your breasts with both hands. The cool nature of his prosthetic sending another shiver through you as he rubbed your nipple with the tips of his fingers. Your hands fell from his chest and went to his belt, pulling it loose, and yanking down the zipper of his jeans.

You wasted no time reaching beneath his briefs and finding him thick and hard for you – “Miss me?” You teased, nipping his lower lip.

“I did, baby girl. I _did_.” He replied, his voice husky. You broke apart for just a second to pull off your shirts and bottoms. He opened the shower door and turned it on, letting the water warm and the steam begin to fill the small bathroom.

You reached up, touching his prosthetic, “Could you show me?” You asked. Clyde’s eyes widened a fraction. His tongue darted out to lick his lips and then he covered your hand with his, guiding by movement and some instruction on how to remove his prosthetic. You pulled it off the healed, scarred stump of his arm and set it down on the counter near the sink.

You felt his fingertips graze along your lower back, and he leaned down, kissing you – his lips firm and hard against your mouth. You dragged your hands through the tendrils of his dark hair and clutched the back of his skull, keeping him close, as you opened your mouth once more. Your tongue slid along his and you felt your chin dampen with his saliva.

“No one’s ever asked that before.” He admitted quietly as you drew apart. You saw the vulnerability etched across his pale; mole spotted face. Your heart soared inside your chest. You felt light, and giddy, and heavy and wanting all at once.

“Yeah…well…” You shrugged, at a loss for words, and at a loss as to how you could ever explain to this man how he made you feel. How he uncovered parts of you that you thought were dormant. How he continued to surprise you with his honesty, his generosity, and his kindness. You led him into the shower, the hot spray immediately relaxing your sore muscles and sloughing off the grime of the day’s activities.

You watched as he lathered lavender-scented bodywash in his hand and slid it along your waist, up your spine, before pressing your bodies together – slick with soap and water. You sighed, forehead resting on his broad chest, as you let him hold you. His calloused hand working their way up your back, to your shoulders, one hand coming to the back of your neck. You felt the firm grip of his fingers as he massaged the back of your neck, from the base of your skull to the junction where your neck met your shoulders. It was a good thing his hand was so fucking _large_.

You lifted your head and grinned up at him. His hair was slick and plastered flat against his head, his large ears peeking out, the spray of the shower sending rivulets of water down his freckled shoulders. His eyes were dark, and you could feel the firm press of his still-hard cock on your abdomen.

“You are spoiling me.” You teased as you felt his hand dig into the muscles of your lower back. Your eyelids fluttering at the deliberate movement of his hands. Your belly trembled with anticipation and desire, but for the moment, the fires were tamed as you let him stroke you, the steam and scent of bodywash filling the small bathroom. You pressed a kiss to his sternum. You licked away the droplets of water from his skin. You placed another open-mouthed kiss to the constellation of moles next to his left nipple.

“You deserve to be spoiled, baby girl.” He said with a low hum, “Now turn around.”

Despite the limited size of the shower, you managed to maneuver yourself around, and planted your hands against the cool tiles for support.

“Tilt your head back.”

You obliged and you felt Clyde’s fingers in your hair, nails scratching your scalp, as he worked the shampoo into a lather in your hair. Your eyes drifted shut. You were lost in the ministrations of his hand as he washed your hair and stroked your body – his touches purposeful and innocent.

You felt his chest press into your back and unable to help yourself – you wiggled and felt the hard length of his cock slide along the swell of your ass. He leaned over you, his forehead touching the tiles, as he spoke into your ear, “Hm? You want this cock, darlin’?”

You bit your lip. His lips closed around the lobe of your ear and sucked softly. Your head leaned back, resting on his shoulder, a low moan escaping your throat.

He spoke in a whisper to the shell of your ear, “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yes.” You replied with a breathless whine to your voice.

“Show me.” Clyde said, his hand squeezing your hip, “Touch yourself. Show me how wet you are.” He was cornering you. His imposing frame pressing you into back wall of the shower. A delicious thrill ran through your body as you slid your hand between your legs. You were slick and your fingertips slid easily across your folds.

“Make yourself come for me.” Clyde said, his hand slowly coasting across your ribs and then covering one of your breasts, his thumb and forefinger idly playing with your nipple in a teasing pinch. “Be a good girl for me and come so I can _fuck_ you.”

You whimpered at his words, slipping a finger into your pussy, and whining at the lack of fullness. “I want you.” You whispered, finger pumping gently into your wetness. Clyde kissed along your neck and shoulder, teeth grazing your pulse point in a way that made you shudder.

“You’ll have me, darlin’. But first you gotta do this for me.” He said, twisting your nipple a little harder and making you gasp. “Harder or softer?” He asked. His palm covering your breast and squeezing.

“Harder.” You slid another finger into your aching center, one hand splayed flat on the tile to keep your balance. Clyde squeezed your breast harder, nails digging into flesh, and you moaned. You turned your head, capturing his soft, plush lips with your own and moaning into his mouth as your fingers worked between your legs. You felt his hips rocking against you, his cock sliding against your ass, as your tongue delved into his mouth and sucked hungrily. It had only been two days, but it felt like _weeks_. Your fingers worked faster, sliding in and out of you, before you slid your other hand below. Clyde – understanding your need for stability – looped his arm around your ribs. He pressed your back into his chest, holding you firm and tight against him, keeping you upright while your other hand began to rub circles around your clit. You kept your legs spread wide (as wide as they _could_ be) and your head tossed back into his chest, whimpering, as you felt that tightness in your lower abdomen.

“Just like that. Good.” Clyde purred, his breathing labored, “ _Fuck_. I can’t wait to fuck you, darlin’. I can’t wait to bury my cock deep inside that tight little pussy of yours. Been thinkin’ about it all day. If we had a moment alone, I woulda bent you over and fucked you so hard you’d be limpin’ for the rest of the day.”

You groaned, body flushed and hot and tight. “Thought about sucking your sweet, perfect tits.” He said with a rumbling timbre to his voice, “and licking your gorgeous cunt till you were screaming. You feel my cock, darlin’? Feel how bad I want you? Be a good girl for me and come all over your fingers.” The combination of Clyde pinning you to the solid heat of his body, the tension of the past two days, the filthy words falling from his mouth – it wasn’t long before you were reaching a crescendo of your orgasm. You’re gasping. Your body trembling.

“ _Clyde_.” You cry out as your spine arched, all the tightness and tension inside your body releasing and electrifying every nerve. You blinked as you came down and it was only a second that passed before Clyde released you, hand pressing to your spine so you’d bend forward slightly, and you intuitively placed both hands on the wall of the shower. You heard him spit behind you and then the head of his cock was pressing your wet folds –

“Ready?”

“Yes!” You nearly sobbed, desperate to feel _him_.

He slammed his cock into your cunt, and you cried out in relief, in pleasure, “Oh, fuck! Oh, God!”

“Fuck, baby.” Clyde grunted, “So good. So perfect.” Your fingertips dug into the tile as Clyde set a ruthless, pounding pace. Your legs spread akimbo and using the edges of the shower to keep yourself upright as his cock quickly thrust into you. “Do you love my cock?”

“Yes,” You gasped, eyes lolling back into your head as you felt him hit your back wall. He was so large, stretching you, filling you, until there was no room left at all. Your inner walls clenched but it was just so _full_.

“Say it.” He grunted, his hand coming down and slapping your ass with a harsh, snapping sound, “I wanna hear you.” His hand then rubbed your stinging skin.

“I love it. I love your--I love your cock.”

“That’s right. That’s my good, good girl. So good for me.” He panted, cock barely withdrawing as he slammed into you. Your knees trembled, threatening to give out at the onslaught of sensation and pleasure that he was giving. You groaned, then cried out – so close to a scream. There was only the rhythmic pounding of the water around your feet and the wet slap of your skin. His hand shifted from your hip down to the apex of your thighs, his fingertips finding your swollen and sensitive clit, and you moaned, damp hair sticking to your cheeks and your arms shaking as you tried to keep yourself upright and avoid smashing your head into the tiles. You gasped, then found yourself panting, and moaning, your body somehow both exhausted from your previous orgasm and anticipating the second one. The tight, coiling in your gut, your nipples tightening, the delicious friction as he slid his cock in and out of you.

“I want to feel you, darlin’.” Clyde said, “I want you to clench around me as you come, I wanna fill you up.”

Your eyes squeezed shut and you were only semi-aware of the words falling from your lips as he fucked you. “Yesyesyesyes. Please. Yes. God. Fuck. Close. So Close. Don’t stop.” You tried to rock back into his thrusts, but it only served to throw off the pace, so you stopped and focused on keeping yourself upright. You focused on his fingers teasing your clit, his cock slamming into you, and in a mindless search for pleasure – you let one hand drop from the wall and you squeezed your own breast, index finger flicking your hardened nipple to send tiny shockwaves of pleasure to your core.

Like a bowstring suddenly snapping, the hand on your breast flew forward, slapping to the wet tile to catch yourself and keep yourself upright as your orgasm hit. Your walls pulsing and clenching around the thick, hard length of him. You could hear Clyde moaning behind you, his body flush against yours, his cock buried to the hilt. You screamed as you came – white hot pleasure flooding your veins and milking you of every drop of your strength. In that same moment, you felt him come, felt as his cock swell inside you, felt your cunt pulsing and squeezing even though you were stretched and filled with no room to expand.

You slowly stood upright, letting Clyde’s still-hard cock slip out from you and you spun around – grasping Clyde’s face between your hands and bringing his mouth down to yours. You could feel his come dripping from between your legs and down your inner thigh. It didn’t matter. You were in the shower, after all. The only thing that did matter was kissing _him_. You were breathless and panting, body slick with sweat and steam, but still you kissed him with fervor.

“I missed you.” You said, surprised by how easily the words slipped from your lips when you pulled away.

His eyes were soft, brows relaxed, and lips parted, “I missed you, too.”

Something that felt like sunshine blossomed in your chest. Clyde touched your shoulder, guiding you under the spray of water, and you let yourself fall back into his chest. The shower rinsed away the last of the soap and the suds in your hair. Clyde pressed tender, light kisses to the side of your neck, his hand sliding up and down from your rib to your hips in a swift caress.

Eventually, though, the water began to cool, and you begrudgingly turned it off.

“Wait here.” Clyde said before opening the shower door, leaving, and returning with a big fluffy towel for you. He wrapped the towel around your shoulders. You couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face as you looked up at him – his hair still wet, face flushed pink, and the soft, wafting steam filling the air around your bodies.

His head bowed forward, and you leaned up on your tiptoes, planting your hands on his dampened chest to steady yourself. Your noses bumped as you kissed, and you felt yourself smiling against his mouth.

XXX

After you were both dressed, you dug through your kitchen – how _nice_ was it to have a kitchen?! There was a little pep in your step as you moved around. You dug through the cabinets, pulling out what you thought you mind need and placing it on the counter, while trying to do a mental shopping list for your first grocery run. As you searched, you noticed that Mellie left behind a few coffee mugs, some silverware, and a few baking trays left in the bottom drawer of the oven. You added ‘kitchen supplies’ to your mental grocery list.

“We could always order out.” Clyde said from the living room, legs stretched out on the couch, a book resting on his chest. You had a spare thought to wonder if he brought it with him or if it was somehow left behind from Mellie.

“No!” You ran your fingers through your damp hair, “I want to cook for you. All we had today was pizza.”

His chuckle was low and pleasant, “Alright, darlin’. I won’t stop ya.”

You prop your phone on the counter with a recipe page open. The first two paragraphs detailing someone’s birthday party or _something_. You scroll down, a scanning glance over the ingredients needed and what you’ve piled onto your countertop.

“Before I start – do you have any allergies or anything?” You glanced over your shoulder to see him, the book dwarfed between his large hands, as he laid on the sofa with his head propped by a pillow. A soft smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. He looked so _content_ – even though his body was too tall for the couch and one leg was hanging off the side.

“Nope.” He glanced at you, “What’s that smile for?”

You turned away, biting your lower lip, “Nothing! Just glad you’re comfortable.”

“I’m always comfortable when I’m with you.” He said quietly. You exhaled, tension relaxing from your shoulders, and you set yourself to the task of making dinner. You and Clyde ate of paper plates, seated on the couch together, with the television at low volume just for a background noise as you ate and talked. You listened with rapt attention, plate empty in your lap, as he told you a story from his childhood…

“So, Mels never liked to be left out of anythin’ and she followed us down to the creek.” He shook his head, “To this day, I dunno how she rode her bike behind us without us ever noticin’. But, anyway, she followed us, and all the other boys were hollerin’ when she showed up ‘cause it was like a _boys_ thing.”

“Using a rope swing is _a boy thing_?” You asked with a slight raise to your eyebrow.

“We were thirteen.” He shrugged, “We just liked doin’ things on our own.”

“Mhm.” You nodded, “Go on.”

Clyde smiled a little, “We started jumpin’ into the creek. But the other boys kept saying Mellie couldn’t do it too on account of her bein’ a girl. They kept givin’ her a hard time about it. Me and Jimmy didn’t take too kindly to _that_. Jimmy looked at me and he said ‘Sweet Potata.’”

“Sweet Potato?!” Your brows pinched together as confusion crossed your face. You were unsure how a root vegetable could come into a play about a childhood story about kids playing in the creek.

“When we were kids, we made up code names for uh—pranks. Sayin’ something like that was my heads up that Jimmy got something planned.” Clyde said with a bashful duck to his head, “Jimmy snuck over to where everyone had stashed their clothes while Mellie was distractin’ them by arguin’ with Miller about how it was her turn on the rope.” Another fond smile touched his face, “I was in the water, splashing the other boys, and keepin’ their attention.”

“Then Jimmy came back, armful of clothes, and yelled – ‘hey, assholes!’ and tossed their clothes into the creek.”

“What?!” You broke out into a laugh, “What they’d do?”

“Jimmy and Mellie took off runnin’ and I was already climbin’ outta the creek with the other boys hot on my heels. Me and Jimmy were in nothing but our boxers running down the road with four other boys, in their just boxers, chasing af’er us.” He snorted, “It was a sight to see, I’m sure.”

“What about _your_ clothes?”

“Oh, Jimmy hid them in a different spot.” He shrugged a little, “They let Mellie on the rope swing the next time and they got their revenge by letting out the air in our bikes.”

You hid a yawn behind your hand, and you watched as Clyde’s expression softened.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“I’m not tired.” You said with a petulant note to your voice.

“Mhm, sure, darlin’.” He leaned over, kissing your cheek, his beard tickling your skin, “Go get comfortable. I’ll clean up.”

XXX

In the morning, Clyde woke you with coffee and his mouth between your legs. Your thighs trembling and squeezing his head, your hands digging into his scalp, your spine arching up from your new mattress as he made you come. The euphoric feeling washing over your body and sending fizzy-bubbles of pleasure in its wake.

He kissed your stomach and pulled away – “Hey, what are you--?” Your hands grasped the empty air.

He pulled his shirt on over his head, “Sorry, darling. I’ve gotta go. Jimmy needs my help at his house, and I promised I’d be there.” He gave you a light wink, “Come over tonight?”

You flopped your head back onto the pillows, “I can’t believe you just made me coffee, made me orgasm, and now you’re just leaving.”

Clyde laughed under his breath and leaned over to kiss your brow, “I promise I’ll make it up to you, baby girl.”

“I’ll hold you to that.” You replied with a slight narrow to your eyes.

You listened to the front door shut and your eyes trailed over to your clothes hamper in the corner. A slip of yellow paper peeking out from the back pocket of your shorts. You swallowed thickly. You had five days left in your promise to buckle down and _work_ this case. There in your pocket was a lead. You climbed out of bed and pulled the necklace from your nightstand drawer. Your fingernail slipping into the slit and pulling free the USB drive.

You pulled an over-sized T-shirt over your head, tucked your laptop under your arm, and carried your coffee with you into the living room. You sat on the floor with the bill of sale on the coffee table next to the laptop as it booted up, requested your password, and you opened the file on Mellie Logan. You made note of the bill of sale, the amount, location, then uploaded a copy of said bill into her file.

You sighed, coffee heavy on your tongue, your fingers flying across the keys as you began your work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow this was a 5K chapter LOL. This chapter got so sweet that it gave me a toothache. Heeheh. Thank you to everyone who has commented so far & I want you to know that your comments bring me such JOY and HAPPY FEELINGS! 
> 
> Reader Chan – IDK Clyde doesn’t have feelings for me, and I don’t really have feelings for him. It’s just sexual.  
> Narrator: That was a fucking lie. 
> 
> Also, I want everyone to know that I have purchased a Clyde Logan candle that it supposed to smell like Cypress and Bourbon and I am so excited for it to arrive


	13. Chapter 13

* * *

On the anniversary of your second week living in Mellie’s old place – you decide to roll up your sleeves and try making peach cobbler. Mellie had mentioned it was Clyde’s favorite and after scouring through wordy recipe sites, you finally found one that you think will be easy enough for you to put together.

There’s flour dusting your countertop and fingertips, discarded eggshells tossed carelessly into the sink, and you’re crouched in front of the oven and peering at the cobbler as it bakes.

In the quiet, warm kitchen, your thoughts drift back to Mellie’s account and the evidence you were able to find.

And the simple fact that you _refused_ to report it. Agent Grayson had called you twice this week. And each time – you avoided telling her the truth. You stuck to your story of _‘I’m close, but nothing concrete yet.’_ You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t throw the Logan’s under the bus. And the evidence you had was against Mellie and that woman had shown you nothing but kindness and generosity. She helped you get a job, offered you a place to stay, invited you out with her family, _and_ —you glanced at the calender tacked against the wall – you had a girl’s night coming up. She had been more your friend than Agent Grayson ever had.

Your loyalties had shifted. You did not want to see Mellie Logan behind bars. Or any of the Logan family, for that matter.

Your mind pulled you to this morning and the feel of Clyde’s beard as he nuzzled the side of your neck and kissed your jaw. The pleasant, heavy weight of his arm thrown over your stomach. The lazy way he had traced your skin with his fingertips. You had squirmed and drew his mouth to yours and the rest of your morning was spent in slow, heady bliss.

You sighed, pulling open the oven and lifting the cobbler from the tray. You were on limited time here. You _knew_ that. The FBI would want you back and you’d run out of vacation time eventually. Assuming Sarah didn’t pull you back in.

Your only option was to enjoy this time for as long as you could. You’d have to come up with some kind of excuse or reason to return to DC. Maybe you’d tell Clyde it was a family emergency. A twinge of guilt nipped at the back of your mind. You did not like the feeling of lying to him. The closer you became – the harder it was to keep your secret and the questions began to plague you.

How would he react? How would any of them react? How could you retain these friendships and relationships without hurting anyone?

The pragmatic in you reminded you that: You have to return to DC, to your life back there, to your career and your cacti sitting in your windowsill. You have to delete the files from your computer and tell Sarah it was a lost cause. You have to say goodbye to West Virginia and Clyde, and Jimmy, and Mellie, and the Bang Brothers and everyone else in this town. Everyone’s life would return to normal. You and Clyde’s relationship would be a warm, summer memory and nothing more.

And in the grand scheme, you already made your choice. You weren’t investigating them anymore. You weren’t reporting anything to the FBI or to Sarah. You hadn’t touched your laptop in two weeks and the USB was still dangling from the port.

Whether you wanted to stay or not was irrelevant. Your feelings were irrelevant. You could **not** stay here indefinitely.

You shook away the thoughts. _Stay present._ You reminded yourself as you opened a window to let the hot air generated from the stove out. _Enjoy this time while you have it._

You heard your name called out as the front door opened and Clyde’s large body stepped past the threshold.

You glanced at the clock, wiping the flour from your hands, “You’re back early!”

Clyde removed his jacket and hung it by the door, giving you a slight smile, “Jimmy and I finished up early. What are you cooking?”

You bit your lip to stop the sheepish smile, “Uh. Peach cobbler.”

Clyde’s eyes lit up as he joined you in the kitchen, his arms wrapping around your waist and his lips pressing to the top of your head. “Did Mellie tell you that was my favorite?”

“She might’ve.” You teased, leaning up on tiptoes to kiss him properly. “It needs to cool, though.”

His eyes crinkled with another smile, mischief dancing in the honeyed warmth of his gaze, “I have an idea.” He reached for your hands and pulled you down the hall to the bedroom. Your heart skipped with anticipation as he guided you to sit down on the mattress and then asked you to lie down with your arms up.

You watched as Clyde moved about your bedroom and then joined you, his thighs straddling your waist, and you grinned as he leaned over you and wound the rope around your wrists and to the bedpost.

“How’s that?” He asked, giving the nylon rope a soft tug, “Not too tight?”

You wiggled your fingers and tried to pull your wrists apart but found them snug and secure.

“It’s okay.”

“Good.”

His head bowed forward, and he pressed his lips to yours. His tongue parted your lips and you tilted your chin up, slightly, eagerly, and moaned into his mouth. He rewarded you with his hand sliding up your shirt, across your stomach, and to the swell of your breast. You sighed as he pulled down the cup of your bra and pinched your nipple between his index and thumb. A tiny shock wave of pleasure shooting down to your core.

Clyde was content to keep kissing you, his tongue slick against your own, his mouth closing around your lower lip and sucking softly before delving back into your mouth once more. The house smelled of peaches and cinnamon and your body was lush and heavy with lust. Clyde’s mouth tore away from yours and traveled down your neck, leaving wet kisses along your throat, until he pushed away your shirt and his tongue flicked across your other nipple. Your back arched, whimpering sighs escaping you, and another desperate twist of your hips to create some kind of friction. His mouth kissed a trail to the other side, each hand cupping a breast, as he sucked your peaked nipple. Your eyelids fluttered shut and you pulled against the restraints causing a pleasurable strain in your shoulders. You were at his mercy and you knew he’d take care of you.

His hands skated downward, to your waist, and he unclasped and pulled away your shorts and underwear. He moved so he was lying on his side next to you.

You gasped as you felt his calloused hand cup you, one finger sliding along your wet folds. Clyde let out an appreciative hum.

“Already so wet for me, baby?” He asked.

“Always.” His finger slowly slid into your pussy and he leaned over you once more, his mouth covering your ‘ _perfect tits’_ as he called them. His teeth scraped across your sensitive nipple and you gasped, body shuddering, with the slick sounds of his finger pumping in and out of you and your heartbeat drumming in your ears. There was the pleasant, aching stretch as he pushed another finger into you, his thumb grazing your clit in teasing, light strokes. You moaned, your hips rocking back and forth. His fingers twist and rub against your inner walls in a way that makes you shiver. _Again_. It’s a slow, incredible kind of torture.

The mattress dipped as Clyde moved once more, shifting to pull your knees apart and rest them on his shoulders, and there’s hardly a second to breathe before his tongue is against your clit. You cry out, another tug against the ropes binding you, and you wildly _wish_ you could touch him. You wish you could pull his hair or grab his shoulders or pull his shirt off him and touch his chest. But you can’t. You’re stuck. Trapped. You shudder as his tongue swiped up along your folds. Your thighs tense around his head as he feasts on you.

You’re watching him through half-lidded eyes as he closed his lips around your clit and sucked. You whine – it’s not enough pressure to get you off, but it’s just enough to make you crazy. To make you squirm and tense around him.

“Clyde.” You breathe out, neck arching, your body trembling. The rough stubble of his beard scratching the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. His fingers return to your center, two gliding into you with little resistance, and thrusting at a steady, yet dizzying pace as his tongue and lips work over your clit. His tongue circles the swollen nub and then he pressed his lips around it, fingers curling inside you, and there’s you’re overwhelmed as the sensations hit you all at once. The rope pressing into your flesh, the solid heat of Clyde’s shoulders under your knees, the warmth of his mouth and tongue, and the friction of his fingers driving into you.

Your thighs squeezed around his head as you came. Your fingers clenched into fists and your nails dig into your palms. You blink as you return to Earth, return to your body, and there’s the sound of clothing hitting the floor and then Clyde – _Clyde_ \- the thick head of his cock pressed against your entrance and there’s no preamble or pretense before he swiftly pushed inside of you.

“You feel like heaven, sweetheart.” He crooned, both hands holding your hips, and you loosely wrap your legs around his waist. He’s kneeling on the bed, holding you at an angle, as your arms are still pinned above your head. Clyde doesn’t move right away. Your walls pulse around him as he held you there – full and impaled on his cock.

“Clyde, baby, _please_.” You gasped, squirming and flexing your hips to get some kind of friction.

“Only because you asked nicely.” He teased before his hips draw back and thrust into you.

“Fuck.” He hissed, another thrust and slap of wet skin, “You’re so _wet_.” His strokes are long and sharp as you feel every inch of him slamming into your core, the delicious friction building and building until your head is swimming and your body is shaking. Your lips parted in a wordless cry as Clyde pounded into you. The ache in your shoulders and neck from this position fade away as the pressure builds, higher and higher, until there is nothing but you and _him_. You can feel his hand slid between your bodies, where you’re joined is slick with your juices and sweat, and his fingers circle your clit. Your hands clenched once more, your eyes squeezing shut, as your voice came out in a harsh whisper – “Fuckfuckfuck. Close. I’m close.”

“That’s right, my good girl.” Clyde groaned, “Come all over my cock.”

It’s impossible to push back or thrust with him in this position and with your hands trapped – you can’t even play with your breasts or touch him. Helpless, yet safe. Trapped, yet cared for. All your pleasure is in his hands. You gasped as your walls clench around him, your cunt squeezing as the orgasm hits you. Clyde moaned with you and you can feel his cock swell and twitch inside of you, the knowledge that he’s filling you, the stretch and pressure making you tremble again. 

Clyde leaned forward, pressing chest-to-chest, as his hands come up and untie the rope around you. You wiggled your fingers and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down to you so you can kiss him. You can feel his cock buried inside you gradually softening.

“You drive me crazy, Clyde Logan.” You teased as you pulled away from the kiss.

“The feeling is mutual, darling.”

As he pulled out and laid beside you, he took your hands with his, gently massaging your wrists and fingers and placing light kisses to your palm and fingertips. There’s a faint, red mark from the ropes where they pressed into your skin from your squirming and straining.

“You think the peach cobbler is cooled off?” He asked with another kiss to the inside of your wrist.

You smile over at him, “Probably.”

You bundled together on the couch with a blanket over your laps and a plate of peach cobbler in your hands. You’re unable to stop your smile as Clyde took his first bite and his eyes went wide, “This is amazing!”

“Really?” You peeked over at him again with your fork poised over your plate, your piece hovering by your mouth.

“Really.” He nodded and shoveled another generous bite into his mouth. “I think I’ll have to keep ya around.”

You laughed, “Good.”

XXX

By the weekend, you were back at Clyde’s. During the week, he claimed to have some kind of surprise for you but, you had to wait until Friday to see it. Needless to say, the week _dragged_ by, as if it were taunting you for having something to look forward to.

You opened the door to Clyde’s humble, cozy cabin, with the smell of cypress, pine, and burning wood wafting around you. The fireplace is crackling and chasing away the beginning of mid-August’s evening chill and Clyde is sitting on the couch with a book in his lap.

He smiled up over at you, “Hey, darling.”

“Hey.” You shut the door behind you and padded over to him, lowering yourself and snuggling beside him on the couch.

“Okay, where’s my surprise?!” You leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

“It’s in the bedroom.” He said, returning his gaze to his book, “Come back here when you’ve seen it.”

“Hmmm.” Your brows furrowed and you squeezed his shoulder before getting up and investigating. You had _no idea_ what it could be. He put it in the bedroom so – was it some kind of sex toy? Or did he just want you to open it with privacy?

You clicked on the bedroom light and saw, laid out on the plaid sheets, was a wrapped box with a small book on top. You picked up the book first and found that it was blank inside – save for a note at the front: _For the next great story you’ll tell – Clyde._

A tightness lodged inside your throat as you realized what this was. A journal for you, for your stories, for your _dream_. You set the fine, leather-bound journal down. Your fingers tore the wrapping paper away and found a garment box. Another note was written on the front – _wear this._ You chewed your lower lip and opened the box to discover a lacy, emerald lingerie set. You lifted the fabric and smiled to yourself. It was lace and therefore sheer which meant that he’d see every inch of you.

Without another thought, you disrobed and tossed your clothing on the floor, and slid the lacy bra and pantie set onto your body. With a bounce to your step, you went into the attached bathroom and checked your reflection in the mirror. A thrill ran through you. Clyde bought this for you. He wanted to see you in it, wanted to fuck you in it, and then – you glanced back toward the bed. He also got you a very thoughtful and sweet gift. Somehow, these two gifts were the perfect representation of this man. He could be sweet and kind and a true gentleman…but he could also be wicked and tempting.

You returned to the living room and Clyde set his book down. His eyes trailed up and down your body, you felt his gaze as it roamed over your chest and drank you in. His tongue wet his lips.

“Get over here.” He said, his voice husky.

Your hands played with the straps of your bra as you walked over, “This was a very nice surprise.”

“Mhm.” He grabbed your hips, pulling you down onto his lap, and you could feel the large bulge of his cock straining in his jeans as you straddled him. You rocked your hips against him, and he grinned in response.

You cupped his face in your hands and kissed him, slow and sweet, “And thank you for the journal, too.”

“Of course.” He mouthed your neck, teeth grazing along your jaw, “You deserve it.” He paused for a moment, head leaning back to look up at you, “I want you to keep that on while I fuck you tonight.”

You swallowed. A shuddering breath slipping past your lips.

“Oh?” You tilted your head, feeling Clyde’s hand rub up along your arm and then his finger looped into the strap of your bra. His eyes were dark and flooded with heat. As if he only had eyes for you. For this moment.

“For the first round, at least.” He brought his other hand to the back of your neck and drew you down to him, meeting your lips in an urgent and hard kiss.

Your heart swelled inside your chest.

After, you laid in front of the fireplace together, a glass of wine shared between you and your new lacy lingerie is strewn about on the couch. You rested your head on his broad chest and listened to the steady, comforting pounding of his heart. The fire warming your toes and legs – and Clyde himself was basically a giant space heater. His skin smelled of salt and fresh air. You liked it. You didn’t know how it was even possible to like the way someone _smelled_ , but here you were.

You turned your face and pressed a chaste, light kiss to the fine, sparse hair on the middle of his chest.

“Mm.” Clyde stirred in his sleep, his arm tightening around you, and your lips lifted into a soft, gentle smile. Your head fell back down onto his chest, swaddled in the warmth of Clyde and the crackling fire, and the heaviness dragged your eyelids closed.

XXX

“Good god, how many notebooks do you need?!” You asked as you held the shopping list, walking between Sadie and Sylvia.

“One for each class.” Sadie said with a slight shrug to her shoulders.

“Are you coming camping with us?” Sadie then asked, “Since you’re dating my Uncle Clyde?”

Your eyebrows raised and you looked to Sylvia for support. She just pursed her lips.

“Uh. He hasn’t mentioned any camping trips…”

“Oh.” There was an echo of disappointment in Sadie’s voice. The girl had taken a shine to you ever since you gave her a _latte_ at the fair. Whenever Jimmy brought her around, she would talk to you, and tell you about her brothers or her friends. Sometimes, she’d even try to rope you into singing with her whenever something good came on the radio. She was a sweet kid.

You’d be lying if you didn’t consider her and her relationship to her dad and Clyde when it came to your decision about ending your investigation. You didn’t want to be the reason a girl lost her father. Especially when she already saw him less often due to the divorce. 

“Well, we usually go during the first week of September. It’s _really_ pretty. You should ask Uncle Clyde about it.”

“Sadie,” Sylvia began, her voice gentle, “How about we just focus on the shopping?”

“Hey, look! Backpacks!” Sadie ran forward, leaving you and Sylvia behind. You chewed the inside of your cheek and watched as Sadie looked through the various backpacks.

“Don’t worry about the camping thing.” Sylvia said, folding her arms, “I don’t know Clyde as well as I know Jimmy, but those brothers get around to saying what they wanna say _eventually_.”

You just shrugged, “It’s alright. We haven’t…I mean…we still haven’t even talked about what this even is. I mean - I don’t call him my boyfriend.”

Sylvia’s lips parted and her eyes widened, “What?”

You frowned, confused by her expression, “ _What_?”

“Well, it’s just…” She pressed her lips together, “I’ve heard him refer to you as his girlfriend, is all.”

You blinked as the words registered. “He—” You were cut off as Sadie came running back over, her chosen backpack in hand, and she tossed it into the cart.

“Can we get ice cream after this?” Sadie asked, then looked to you, “What’s next on the list?”

“Pencils.” You tried to force your thoughts to the back of your mind. You and Clyde hadn’t discussed your relationship. _At all_. You figured it was easier that way. Creating labels could make things…complicated. Especially since you couldn’t stay here forever. It would be easier to say goodbye if you and Clyde weren’t anything other than a summer fling.

 _You aren’t a summer fling._ Your traitorous heart reminded you. _You know it feels different from that._

You thought of the beautiful, brown leather journal on your nightstand at home. Clyde’s note inside of it. Fuck buddies, friends with benefits, whatever people called it – they didn’t get gifts for each other, did they? And now Sylvia just informed you that Clyde referred to you as his girlfriend. He saw you as his partner.

A tiny spark of hope ignited inside of you.

_What if there’s another option? What if you don’t go back to DC? What if you just stay here and start a life here? You could quit your job. You could create something new. You could stay here._

“I found the pencils!” Sadie called out and finally drew you away from your thoughts.

After shopping, you do end up getting ice cream. You sat on the curb with Sadie and Sylvia. The sky painted bright blue, the June bugs and honeybees buzzing about in the late summer warmth, your tongue chasing dripping ice cream around the cone. The little ice cream parlor was crowded with families – young and old – and some non-descriptive pop song plays from the speakers overhead.

As Sadie talked about her upcoming classes, you wonder if you really _could_ stay here. How hard would it be, really? Your loyalties were no longer to your job or this assignment. You could leave the Bureau on good terms. There were just the logistics to figure out. Your apartment, your job, and your stuff.

You smiled to yourself as you licked another drip of ice cream away.

Maybe…

Maybe this really could work.

XXX

The golden and orange hues of autumn come to Boone. It’s been over a week since you went back to school shopping with Sylvia and Sadie. Yet, you hadn’t worked up the courage to have the conversation with Clyde about your relationship and staying in Boone for the future. You wanted to get it _right_.

And, if you were being completely honest, you were afraid. Once you had the conversation – there was no turning back. You’d be opening yourself up to him. You’d be giving up your life in DC for _this_ life. A life with Clyde. And you’d need time – time to go back to DC and get everything sorted.

This was the first time in a long time where you felt truly, honestly excited about something. _Excited_ about the next chapter.

You ran your comb through your wet hair, humming to yourself, as you climbed into bed with Clyde.

“You’re in a good mood.” He said, looping his arm around your stomach and pressing a kiss to the middle of your back.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, “I guess…I’m just realizing how happy I am. Here.” You bit your lip, “With you.”

His hand slid down your side, then under your knee, and he lifted your leg, so it was draped over his hips.

“That’s good…” His eyes sought your face, “I’m happy you’re here too.”

You scooted forward, pressing your bodies together, and kissed him. Soft, lush lips pliant beneath your own. Your chest felt light, warm with emotion, as you pulled your shirt off over your head and pulled away your panties. Once skin-to-skin, you snuggled your body against his, nipples grazing against his bare chest. His fingertips squeezed your hip as your lips met again, slow, and gentle, as if you had all the time in the world.

And you did. You realized that as you made your choice. There was no rush to go back to DC. No rush to report to your superiors. You were going to _stay_. This was your home. You reached down between your bodies and grasped the base of his cock, finding him hard and thick in your hand. Clyde moaned into your mouth as you touched him, the velvety heat heavy in your hand. With your leg still over his hip, you helped position the head of his cock at your entrance, and slowly sank down onto him – keeping your lips still locked together.

He rocked his hips forward, his cock rubbing against your inner walls. You gasped into his mouth. The slick, wet heat building between your thighs with each gentle stroke.

“Clyde,” You whispered, nose nuzzling his, “Oh, _Clyde_.”

He repeated your name back, tongue swiping across your lower lip, and then he nudged you onto your back. His cock withdrawing slightly and then sinking back into you. It was more of a rocking motion than anything else. Deliberate, slow thrusts, making your walls clench and try to pull him deeper. You sucked his tongue, then kissed his jaw, down the stubble on his neck, and then your teeth met the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bit down. Clyde grunted, snapping his hips forward in a deep thrust that made you gasp and release him.

“Wrap your legs around me.” He whispered, and as you did so, he thrust into you a little fuller, a little _harder_ , and you mewled with pleasure. The darkness enveloped you, you could only see the shadow of his form as he rocked into you, but you could feel every inch of his skin. His chest pressed against yours, his cock sliding in and out, his hair tickling the side of your face, his breath in the shell of your ear as he whispered your name over and over again.

That delicious friction was building, your nipples went taunt with pleasure and desire, and you snaked a hand between your bodies. Clyde -understanding _you_ , understanding your body, increased his pace as your fingertips circled and pressed down on your clit. You hiccuped a gasp, one hand on his shoulder, the other between your bodies, and you started to pant as the orgasm crept ever-closer. Your skin hot and flushed, your heart beating with his, and you whined – “Clyde, Clyde – I - I –“

“I’m here.” He muttered, pressing his nose to the side of your face, “Right here.”

The tightness grew inside your chest and throat. You were overwhelmed with – with _something_. An emotion that was familiar yet, you did not want to name it yet. It was too soon. Entirely too soon to face that. He continued to slide into you, the tip of his cock rubbing the walls of your cunt, with each thrust making your body twitch. It wasn’t a crashing lightening bolt or a sudden rainstorm. Your orgasm bubbled forth, your thighs tightened around his waist, and your walls clenched and pulsed around his thick, hard cock. Clyde went still as your walls squeezed him and he moaned, kissing you deeply, before thrusting once more in sharp, long strokes.

You knew him as well as he knew you. You knew he wouldn’t last long. Your walls were still clenching, your orgasm dragging out as he continued to fuck you, and then he hit _deep –_ so deep that you cried out and clutched him- and you felt him come with a shuddering gasp.

Clyde rested his forehead on your shoulder. Neither of you said anything. You could almost fall asleep like this – him still buried inside you, his body a heavy weight on top of you. Clyde rolled over to his side, though, and he pulled you back into his chest and placed light kisses to your shoulder.

You rubbed your face into your pillow. Your pillow that smelled like him. You fall asleep with a smile tugging at your mouth.

XXX

When you wake up to the sounds of songbirds signing and the faint smell of coffee – your arm went out to touch Clyde’s side of the bed and found it cold. You grumbled and sat up, rubbing your eyes, “Clyde?”

He stood in the doorway of your bedroom.

It takes your sleep-addled mind several seconds to catch up with what you’re seeing.

A chain is dangling from his fingers.

He said your name, his voice still rough from waking up – “What is _this_?”

Your eyes locked onto the tiny USB clutched between Clyde’s large fingers.

And it felt as if the whole world suddenly turned sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR THE CLIFFHANGER.  
> SORRY IN ADVANCE FOR CHAPTER UNLUCKY NUMBER 13.
> 
> :) hope ya'll are enjoying the ride. i finished this chapter while i had my new clyde logan candle lit LOL


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw: Reader-Chan gets a little self-deprecating in this. Just a heads up.

* * *

You stared at the device pinched between his fingers with your heartbeat thundering in your ears and your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth. You pulled the sheet up and over your naked chest as if that would protect you – shield you – from the awful truth of this moment.

Clyde’s face was stony, his lower lip trembling ever-so-slightly, and his eyes narrowed with distrust.

Part of you wanted to argue that he shouldn’t be snooping through your things. But, saying _that_ would just prove your own guilt.

He said your name. It felt like a knife to your throat.

“I can explain.” You begin, hands shaking and tightening around the sheet.

Clyde said nothing. The man who held you tenderly last night, who kissed you and cared for you, who made you laugh – he was gone. You swallowed past the hot tightness in your throat.

“I was originally sent here by Agent Sarah Grayson, special agent of the FBI, to continue her investigation.” As the words came out, they felt like sandpaper against your tongue.

“Is –“ He said your name, “Even your real name?”

“It is! Clyde—” Desperate to fix this, to _salvage_ this, you scrambled out of bed and grabbed your clothes. As if getting dressed would somehow hide your vulnerability and nakedness in the face of the painful truth. You had done the one thing you were hoping to avoid. You had hurt him.

“I haven’t worked the case in over a month.” You didn’t know what he saw, didn’t know what he put together, but there was no point to try and hide anything now. You had to come clean. “I swear to you. The entire case was dead end after dead end, and I didn’t **_want_** to keep doing it anymore.”

“You’ve been here for nearly four months.” Clyde bit out, anger flashing in his eyes.

“Yes.” You nodded, “But the week I moved in here,” You took a step toward him and he took a step away. You let out a frustrated noise and remained where you were, clenching your toes against the soft carpet. “That was the last week I did anything. I had grown close to you…and your family…”

There was a vice inside your chest. It squeezed and squeezed until you let out a weak, shuddering gasp and desperately tried to keep the tears at bay. It was fruitless. They still burned down your flushed cheeks. You turned your face away and quickly wiped them with the back of your hand.

“So,” His voice was gruff, “This whole thing was a lie then.”

“No!” You blurted out, another desperate step toward him, but this time he didn’t back away. He just looked down his nose at you. His lips no longer trembling but instead – firmly pressed together. You could see his pulse jumping at his throat. As much as you longed to reach out and touch him, to reassure him that things were different now, you kept your hands shivering at your sides. Hot adrenaline and pain galloped through you.

“You got close to me. You got close to my family. ‘cause you work for the Feds and you were plannin’ to throw us in jail. And you still work for them? That right?”

“Y-yes.” You closed your eyes for a moment, feeling the warm tears glide down your face. You gave yourself another second to collect your thoughts, “B-but Clyde, I- I was going to stay here-“

“And play the long game?” He snapped, tossing the USB aside where it clattered onto the floor.

“No! I was going to quit my job and stay _here_.” You bit your lip, “With you.”

His features were hard and unreadable. He just shook his head.

“Clyde!” He turned away from you, “I’m telling the truth!” You followed him into the kitchen, bare feet padding across the linoleum behind his heavy steps, “If you look at the drive – the notes are from last month. I haven’t been investigating. I stopped! I gave it up! I don’t want it anymore. I don’t want that life!”

You grabbed his arm and felt the tense strain of muscle beneath your palm.

“Please, Clyde.” You let out another shuddering breath, the tears flowing freely, and snot dripping from your nose.

“You lied to me.” He said with his face and body still turned away, “You lied to all of us.” His voice sounded flat. You inhaled shakily. Somehow this defeated acceptance was worse than anger. If he had been angry, then you could deal with that. You could fight it out. But, instead, it seemed that Clyde had made up his mind.

“It doesn’t matter if you stopped workin’ a month ago or a day ago.” He roughly pulled his arm away from your touch. He did not look back at you as the final words left his mouth - “Stay away from me and my family.”

He opened your front door and slammed it shut.

Your eyes fell down to the carpet. You stared, your gaze blurry with tears, at the fibers around your feet. Your arms wrapped around your middle, as if it would somehow hold in the breaking of your heart, as if you could hold yourself together by sheer force of will.

Your mind replayed the moment over and over again.

Numbly, you sat down on your couch, your spine bending forward as you covered your face and rested your elbows on your knees. Once the tears began, there was no stopping them. _Stupid._ You chastised yourself for believing that this would just work itself out for believing that you could avoid the truth.

A sob wracked your body. There was snot running down past your lips and tears turning your cheeks sticky and wet. You hiccupped an inhale and somewhere between crying your eyes out and breathing, you found the energy to lie sideways on the couch and curl up into a fetal position.

Everything _ached_.

Your stomach, your head, your eyes, your heart – your _heart_. The sledgehammer that had broken your heart was crafted and wielded by your own two hands.

“I should’ve left sooner.” You said aloud just to hear another sound beside your own whimpers.

_It’s too late. As if you ever would’ve wanted to go back to **that** life. You were a goner….probably from day one._

The passage of time was a blur. One moment it was early afternoon and the next it was dusk. You might’ve slept, but it didn’t feel like it. Every time you shut your eyes – you saw his face – heartbroken, betrayed, defeated, and _sad_. The sorrow within him – you did that. It was _your_ fault. You had no one to blame but yourself.

Sure, you could try and blame Agent Greyson for putting you on this mission. But she was the one who came up with the original rule list, right? _Don’t get attached._ That rule had been laid in place for your protection.

“I failed.” You sniffled, burying your face into the tear-soaked couch cushion, “I failed _everyone_.”

You had failed your job. You had broken your trust with the Logan Family. You failed Sarah. What was the point in going back, now? What was even waiting for you in DC? Nothing. No one. A career you weren’t’ sure you wanted to keep, an apartment that was never quite-home, and alleged friends who hadn’t bothered to reach out the entire time you were in West Virginia.

You rolled onto your back and stared up at the ceiling.

How could you stay _here_? In the place where you betrayed people close to you? Where the man you cared so, so fucking much about didn’t want anything to do with you. Your hands covered your red and puffy eyes and you tried to block out your relentless thoughts.

The first night you met. Clyde at the fair. Clyde smiling. Clyde holding you. Clyde making you a drink. Clyde kissing your cheek. _Clyde. Clyde. Clyde._

“Fuck!” You shouted, grief merging with anger for a brief, painful moment. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Your feet slammed against the armrest of the couch and then fell limp. The sadness swept forward once the anger had dissipated away.

“It shouldn’t’ hurt this much.”

Logically, you knew that you and Clyde had only known each other for a few months. Yet, he made you feel… _seen_ , appreciated, listened to, respected, and cared for. His warmth and kindness thawed any ice around your heart. A headache throbbed between your eyebrows.

You tugged at the blanket that was thrown over the middle of the cushions and cocooned it around your body.

You could still _smell_ him. Fresh air, pine trees, bourbon – earthen and warm. You could almost imagine his arms circling around you in a tight embrace. The memory of it tugged painfully at your heartstrings.

A fresh wave of tears sprang from your eyes, trailing down the sides of your face and catching in the shell of your ears and dripping down your jaw.

That night, you skipped dinner and passed out on the couch.

When the morning came, you opened your eyes and there’s this brief sense of serenity, this feeling that ‘ _Everything’s okay’._ It’s surreal. You idly wondered where Clyde is, and why he let you sleep on the couch…

and then reality crashed down like ice water. You tried to swallow past the tight lump in your throat, but it’s pointless. You could no sooner bend gravity to your will than stop the tears that threatening to overcome you. You pressed the blanket up to your face and cried once more, until you were wrung dry, until your stomach started to clench with retching, dry heaves.

In a zombie-like state, you climb from the couch, to get up and relieve yourself in the bathroom. You pointedly avoid looking at your reflection. The headache is back. The ache inside your bones, chest, and heart is back. You feel as if someone has taken your soul and run it through a meat grinder. 

You splashed cold water onto your flushed cheeks.

You stumbled into your bedroom and checked your phone. No new messages. No missed calls.

 _Call him. Explain. He’s had some time to cool off._ Your thumb scrolled through your contacts, finding his number – there’s the tight, painful twist inside your gut as you see the past text messages you exchanged. It hurts. It hurts so goddamn much.

The line doesn’t ring. It goes straight to voicemail.

“H-hey.” Your voice croaked out, rough as sandpaper, thick with the tears threatening to burst forth. You can feel the tremble in your lower lip, “I – I just wanted…I just wanted…” You squeezed your eyes shut. Two hot tears scald their way down and drip from your chin.

You hang up the phone and crawl into bed.

Sometime around noon, your stomach grumbled, and you left the comfort of your bed – _Oh god, he got you that mattress. He bought those blankets. He did so much for you. He did **so** much, and you just spit in his fucking face. You piece of shit. You deserve to go back to your stupid life in DC. You deserve to go back to your shitty apartment. You fucked up. You fucked up so fucking bad. You don’t even deserve a job at the FBI. They should just fire you._

You drank a small amount of water and ate half a slice of bread. Anything more and you’re positive that you’ll just throw it up. Food has no appeal. You’re not even sure what the point of eating is, anyway? You forced yourself to eat another bite of bread and then, deciding that you’re going to hovel up inside your bedroom for a while, bring some snacks back with you.

Not that you want them.

There’s just some part of your brain that’s functioning on survival mode, that’s telling you to eat and drink water even though none of it seems important. You burrowed back underneath the covers, letting the sound of the TV drone over you, your eyes on the screen but not absorbing or following the show at all.

It’s just for the noise.

Just so you don’t feel so alone.

You rolled over onto Clyde’s side of the bed. You grabbed his pillow – because you’re a _masochist_ , clearly – and pressed your cheek into the cotton. Your phone is held in your hand just in case. _Just in case._

What if he calls? Or texts? You don’t want to miss it. Maybe you could still have a chance to explain. Maybe he’ll forgive you. Maybe if you could just tell him that you never would’ve turned them in.

Not that it would really matter, would it?

You still did the work. You still lied. Even if it was a lie by omission.

Clyde had given you honesty and vulnerability – and you couldn’t give the same to him. Not completely, anyway.

 _You should’ve known better._ You chastised yourself. _You have better intuition than this. You’re better than this. You should’ve deleted the files, thrown the USB into the river, smashed your laptop into pieces…_ You choked out a sob.

Too little, too late. It was all too late. Everything felt grey. Lifeless. Listless. Void. In the moments where your tears ran out, you missed them, because all you were left with was an empty, exhausted feeling.

You forced yourself to eat a few chips and drink half a glass of water. The TV rang out with a some infomercial about mops. You turned the volume to max level on your phone and set it on your nightstand.

 _Just in case_. Just in case you fall asleep. You don’t want to miss a call.

You curled up, tucking Clyde’s pillow against your chest, and you stared – unseeing- out the window. Maybe if you were lucky, you'd fall asleep, and it would put an end to this painful throb at the back of your skull. You tried to count sheep, just for the hell of it, but your mind wouldn't focus. It refused to focus. It kept dragging you back across memory lane, along shards of glass, each slice another agonizing reminder of what you lost. Of _who_ you lost. Because it was not just Clyde, was it? No. It was Mellie. It was Sadie. It was Joe. It was Sylvia. You lost them all. The people you called friends.

The memory of Mellie painting her toenails came into your mind. She was perched on your old motel bed, her hair swept up in a ponytail, and she looked up from her foot and said- "I really like you, you know that right?" 

You remembered sputtering a laugh, asking her where _that_ came from. Mellie had shrugged, "Just felt like letting you know, is all."

_If he would just call, you could then explain yourself better. You just need time to get the words right. That’s all. He’ll come back. You could fix this. You wouldn't have to lose anyone. You just needed the time to explain. He’ll call. He always calls. He always…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I went through a really tough break up last year in June and weirdly – writing this was kind of therapeutic for me. Because this was kind of the headspace that I got into right after my ex moved out. Especially the moment right when you wake up and for a second, because you’re so used to having that person, you think everything is “normal”. But its not. I wish I had a more poetic way of describing that moment…but really, it’s just surreal and painful and blissful all in the span of like ten seconds. 
> 
> Sorry for the shorter chapter, i mean, i didn't wanna kill u guys with angst lol


	15. Chapter 15

* * *

Your text messages and calls had been ignored – not that you _truly_ expected a response. _Stay away from me and my family_. Each time you thought of his words, a knife twisted deeper inside your gut. You sat on the shower floor, arms circling your knees, and let the water pound down against your skull. A weak, shuddering sob escaped you.

Was it a little cliché to cry in the shower? _Maybe_. You were mostly just surprised you had any tears left after the past few days. You chewed at your lower lip, sniffling, and gagging as the mucus hit the back of your throat. You spat it out and let the water rush it down the drain.

_At least you managed to get **into** the shower. _You tilted your head back, scrubbing your hands over your face, before standing slowly on wobbly knees. This morning, you had even managed to eat something that wasn’t junk food.

You turned off the faucet, gooseflesh rising across your skin as you stepped from the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel. Your reflection stared back at you – flushed cheeks and nose, swollen and puffy eyes with dark circles beneath them.

“If only he had just _fucking_ listened!” You grumbled to yourself, drying your body off with the towel with slightly more force than necessary. “I could explain if he just gave me a chance to.” The more you said it, the hollower it sounded. After all, desperately drinking saltwater in the hopes that it’ll turn to freshwater doesn’t make it so. You yanked your shirt over your head and your pajama bottoms. There was no point in getting dressed. You weren’t _leaving_ the house.

You were going right back to bed. You were going to keep watching Netflix until you fell asleep and keep ignoring your calls. The Meals on Wheels program was the only place you called back – feigning illness and stating you wouldn’t be able to help out for a few days. Even _that_ conversation had been difficult. Every instinct in your body begged you to just break down and cry it out to this stranger. At least then you wouldn’t feel so alone.

But the strong stone-wall of pride and guilt stopped you. Not only were you an adult, but _you_ were the bad guy in this breakup. _You_ were at fault. It wouldn’t be right to try and garner sympathy from the locals. You were just going to stay holed up inside your trailer until…well…until you could figure out what the hell you were going to do next.

You crawled into bed, cuddling Clyde’s pillow to your chest, and didn’t move for the next two hours.

XXX

“Whew! You look like hell.”

Your eyes snapped open to see Mellie standing in your bedroom doorway. You blinked, checking the time, checking _yourself_ to ensure it wasn’t a dream. Mellie stood with her jean shorts and bright pink top, her hair curled impeccably around her face, a flashy golden necklace dangling from her throat. Her face was drawn in concern, lips pulled down, brows furrowed. Your heart thundered inside your chest. What had Clyde told her? What was she doing here? Why?

“What? What are you doing here?”

“You didn’t answer my calls.” She popped her gum, the mattress shifting as she climbed into bed with you. “Come here.” She propped herself against the headboard and pulled you into her chest, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, and for the millionth (or so it felt) time that day – you cried. Mellie was quiet as you let it out, just there rubbing soothing circles on your back.

“Clyde told me he ended things but wouldn’t say why.”

You swiped at an errant tear as you pulled back to look at Mellie’s face, “I fucked up. Not just with him, but with you, too. All of you.”

And so, you told Mellie all of it. Agent Grayson. The files. The USB. The digging you did into _her_ accounts. Your decision to stop the investigation and start ignoring your boss’ calls. Clyde discovering the truth. It was cathartic, let cutting away corruption on a wound. You let yourself bleed out, let all your emotions pour out of you, and stumbling through the story between hiccups and tears.

When you were finished, Mellie handed you a few tissues, “Do you still have the USB?”

You nodded.

“It doesn’t have the files, though. I removed them.” You hardly remember the action of pulling out your laptop and wiping everything clean. It’s a gauzy and hazy memory.

“Show me.”

“You’re taking this better than Clyde did.” Your teeth bite in your lip, “Why? I hurt you just as bad as I hurt him.”

“People fuck up.” She said with a small shrug, “If I gave up on every single person who fucked up, I’d have lost my brothers a long time ago. Besides, **_I_** think your heart was in the right place and I don’t think you’re a good enough liar to have faked your whole personality. I like you. I _like_ bein’ your friend. I’m willing to move past this if you are.”

A spark of warm affection bloomed in your chest. At least _everything_ wasn’t lost. You still had one friend. You slid from the bed and grabbed your laptop from its home on top of your dresser. You drummed your fingers against your knee while you set it on the bed and waited for it to boot up. You typed in your password and let Mellie take it from there. She checked the recycle bin, and the computer files, and then the empty USB. She yanked it from the computer by its chain.

“Get dressed, hon. We’re going for a drive.”

You pulled a sweater over your head and swapped out your pajama pants for jeans. You managed to catch a glimpse of your reflection in the bathroom mirror and as expected – you still look like hell. Your hair is limp around your face, cheeks flushed, eyes red-rimmed…but… _but_ …there’s something there.

You recognized the emotion inside your chest as hope.

You lost Clyde, but you didn’t lose Mellie. _Which means this place could still be your home_.

XXX

You leaned your forehead against the cool glass as Mellie raced down the familiar winding roads. Your eyes tracked the trees as you passed them, pine and cypress, big maple trees with their leaves mostly green but you catch pockets of orange, and red, and yellow, as the first colors of autumn begin to reach West Virginia.

“I’m sorry, Mels.” You said, quietly.

“I know.” She reached across the center console and patted your knee, “Thank you for apologizing.”

Your heart clenched inside your chest. Yet, it was lighter than before. You sat up a little straighter in your seat and exhaled, slowly, and shut your eyes. _It’ll work out. It’ll all work out._

Mellie parked her car along the graveled path that led to a train track. The USB dangled from her cherry-red painted fingertips. You walked together, arms nearly brushing, to the tracks. She handed the USB to you and wordlessly looked down at the wood and iron you stood upon.

The USB was empty. This was just part of letting it all go. A ritual. A symbolic farewell to your personal failure – like burning letters from your ex. You placed the USB on the track and walked with Mellie back to her car.

She hopped up onto the warm hood of her Camero and you joined her, head upturned toward the warm sunlight, as a cool breeze ruffled your hair and dried the tearstains on your cheeks.

“I got beer in the trunk; you want one?” She said.

You shrugged, “Sure.”

The cracking of the cans opening echoed across the train tracks and froth bubbled over your fingers and you sighed, crisscrossing your legs. You didn’t think you had the stomach to drink a whole beer. You barley had the stomach to eat more than one meal a day.

“So, what’s new with you?” You asked, unsure of when the next train would arrive. Your eyes remained on the silver charm sitting, waiting, a few feet away. Mellie smacked her lips together after taking a large swallow of her beer.

You let Mellie fill the air with conversation as crickets and cicadas chirped around you.

You finished only a quarter of your beer when the telltale horn of a train cut through the sound of the forest around you.

“Here we go.” Mellie reached over and squeezed your hand. You squeezed back. The train rushed along the tracks and you’re looking – your eyes are _glued_ to the space where you _know_ the USB is – but you don’t see it shatter. And you don’t hear it. The train roared by in mix-match of rusted red and yellow containers, barreling down the tracks and disappearing around the corner. Mellie finished her beer and then pulled you forward, sliding down off the hood of her car – “Come on, let’s go back to my place for a movie night. You feel like pizza?”

Your stomach gurgled in response.

“Okay, Mel. Sure.” As you climb back into the car, you see your reflection in the sideview mirror. You pressed your fingertips into your cheek. They aren’t as flushed. There’s more color to your lips. You look into your own eyes and it’s still _there_ …that tiny flame of hope.

XXX

For the following week, you don’t leave Mellie’s house. She cooks for you and doesn’t complain when you don’t eat it all. As each day that passes, you can feel the fissures inside your heart beginning to heal. Your heart is still broken. Oh, god, it’s still fucking _broken_. But it doesn’t feel useless.

Because you _know_ that you love Mellie. That means your heart is still working as intended. It’s just a little numb around the edges. Mellie put you into a routine. You wake up, have breakfast, and then she usually asks for your help around the house while she’s at work – whether that’s cleaning, or organizing, or doing yard work.

You know it’s busy work, so you don’t lie in bed and cry for eight to ten hours. Yet, you can’t help but feel grateful. Mowing the lawn made you sweaty and gross with grass stains but it’s nice to feel the burn inside your calves as you push the mower. It’s a reminder that you’re alive. Still breathing, still moving, your heart (though broken) is still pumping blood into your body.

It’s Saturday when she threw a large plastic bag onto the guest bed that had been your bedroom for the past five days.

“Picked you up something cute.” She grinned, “Let’s go into the city tonight.”

“Oh, Mellie,” You swallowed, “I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“Won’t know until you try. Come on!” She grasped your hands. Her own covered in sparkly rings. Her manicured nails with bright polish. “I ain’t saying go hook up with someone. Unless you wanna. I won’t judge. But let’s go have some fancy cocktails and _dance_.”

Her eyes light up, “I could give you a _makeover_.”

It might be her expression, or the mystery dress hidden by plastic, or just the simple fact that you were _ready_ for a break in routine. But you found yourself nodding. Mellie squealed in delight and dragged you into the bathroom. Maybe you’d regret this.

“As long as you promise we can leave whenever.”

“Of course!” She yanked her hair curler out from underneath the sink, “Say the word and I’ll call an Uber.”

Your smile caught you by surprise. It’s rusty. As if the muscles don’t quite remember the order in which they are supposed to stretch. It feels good. It feels _real_. You sat on the edge of the bathtub and watched, the smile lingering, as Mellie pulled out bags and bags of makeup supplies.

XXX

The music reverberated inside your bones and at the soles of your feet. Your hair is pinned up, styled with hair spray and bobby pins, with loose, stylized curls around your face. Mellie painted your face with glitter and highlighter, metallic and shimmery eyeshadow, and penciled in your brows. The dark blue strapless dress she found for you went to your mid-thigh and was snug against your body. It was comfortable which was more than you could say for the strappy heels she let you borrow.

Mellie bought the first cocktail. It’s bright blue, with pineapple, and a tiny umbrella. You clinked your glasses together.

It tasted like summer.

You swayed your shoulders to the music and bobbed your head, let yourself get lost inside the flashing lights and thumping music. Someone at the bar bought the next drink. It’s cloudy brown and poured over ice and tasted like sweet coffee. You muscles relaxed and for the first time in days – you don’t think about Clyde Logan.

Although, that’s not completely true. You _do_ think of him. It’s just that this time – the thought doesn’t’ feel like barbed wire running across your heart. You’re able to think of him and not break down into tears and that, at least, feels like an improvement.

A waiter brought over a tray of shots. You and Mellie clink your glasses together again and the alcohol burned as it goes down.

“Whoo!” You exclaimed, throwing your head back, “Goddamn.”

“Hell yeah!” Mellie shouted over the music, “That’s the spirit!”

You dragged Mellie back into the dance floor. It’s a mass of gyrating bodies, the smell of alcohol and sweat pungent in the air. You twirl, throwing your arms overhead, and you let the world spin with you. The lights glowed, leaving bright trails of pink and green and blue. Everything is tinged with a soft, blurred edge.

You clung to Mellie’s hand as she spun you again.

Mellie was right. You _did_ fuck up. But you weren’t _irredeemable_.

“Do you think he’ll come around?” You asked before throwing back yet another shot. You leaned against the bar for support.

“Clyde?” Mellie pursed her lips, “Maybe.”

You swallowed, sinking your cheek into your palm, “I h-hope so. Even if we can’t…you know...” You gestured vaguely, “I’d hate to miss him for the rest of my life.” The words sprang forward, and the reality tugged you down, catching your heart on shards of glass. Mellie’s gaze softened and she reached out to squeeze your shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you say that as if someone wouldn’t _miss_ _you_ for the rest of _their_ life.”

You swallowed thickly, touched by her words, and the tears that prickled your eyes weren’t because of Clyde. You searched her face for any clues, any micro expressions for dishonesty, and found nothing. Even in your sluggish state, your senses dulled by alcohol, you could see that Mellie was telling the truth. She believed…

“You really think I’m that great?” You asked, pulling the straw of your drink into your mouth.

“Yes!” She laughed, “You worked for the Feds, meaning you’re like a trained badass-“ You snorted at that. “You went to school, you’re smart, you’re kind, you’re incredibly generous, you’re a _good_ friend. Not to mention – you’re hot as hell. Anyone would be lucky to have you. I swear on my mama.”

“Thanks Mel.” You smiled. It felt more natural this time.

“Hey, don’t mention it. Now, the cute boy over there in the tight jeans – I think it’s time I gave him my number.” She winked, “Order us another round of drinks and put it on my tab.”

You lifted your hand for the bartender.

Another crack inside your heart began stitch back together again.

XXX

Your mouth is dry, filled with cotton, and your head ached. You stumbled upright, passing your raccoon-smudged eyed reflection, and you smirk for a half second before you let yourself collapse onto the cool bathroom tiles. This is _much_ better. Why don’t more people sleep inside bathrooms? You reached up, grabbing a towel from the rack, and throw it over your shoulders in a poor excuse of a blanket.

You should’ve turned off the light. You should do that. If you’re going to crash in the bathroom, you should get up, and turn off the light. The darkness is better. More comfortable. You used your toes to kick off your heels. You don’t want to get up. This is fine. You’ll get up later.

You closed your eyes. Tonight, was fun. It was good. You’ll have to thank Mellie in the morning.

XXX

You wake to the sound of birds chirping and muffled voices. You slowly sit up, running your tongue over your teeth, and swallowing in vain – God, you need _water_. You raised to your feet and drink straight from the faucet. You wiped your chin with the back of your hand and unsteadily walked to the door.

Maybe Mellie made breakfast already.

Hopefully.

Your stomach churned uncomfortably. Eugh. Okay. Maybe no breakfast.

You pulled the bathroom door open and your vision filled with the sight of a broad chest covered by an old gray T-shirt. Your eyes snapped up – because of course – of course – you just _love_ to torture yourself, don’t you?

You met Clyde’s gaze. His eyes were as dark and soulful as you remember. His lips pouted, flush and you kissed those lips, _once upon a time._ Those eyes had watched you with adoration, and amusement, and affection and lust, and – oh, oh, oh _fuck_.

You slammed the door in his face launched yourself to the toilet. The seat clattered as you lifted it up and hunched over, the bile rising to your throat and spewing from your mouth in the next moment. Your stomach clenched painfully as it brought up all of last night’s regrets. Over and over, your stomach clenched, and your throat burned, until there’s nothing left.

You used a square of toilet paper to clean the acidic spittle from your lips.

You leaned back onto your knees, rubbing away the tears that had appeared from your stomach’s sudden exodus.

“Hon? You okay?” Mellie rapped on the door.

“Yeah.” You called back, voice and heart red and raw. “You can come in, doors unlocked.”

Mellie appeared, wetting a washcloth, and handing it over to you. You pressed the cool cloth to your forehead and the back of your neck, “Mellie, is Clyde gone?”

“He is – I’m sorry – I didn’t know you were passed out in here and he was just dropping some stuff off.”

You limply raised your hand, “It’s fine. I just…I have a favor to ask.”

“Course.”

“Can you watch my place for a little while?” You looked up at her, smiling slightly at how _messy_ she looked this morning, too. Her hair was tangled around her face, her mascara smudged, and her lipstick was long gone but you could see the faint ghost of coral just below her lower lip. “I’ve got some loose ends to tie up.”

Mellie nodded and offered you her hand to help you up.

“Nah, I think – I think I’ll stay here for a little bit. Just in case.” You nodded toward the toilet.

“Alright, hon. I’ll – I’ll go figure out something for us to eat. I feel like a bulldozer ran through my head.”

You smiled, a little, but your mind was on Clyde. His _face_. You had only seen him for a second. Barely a second. _Does he miss me? Did he look sad? I can’t…I can’t remember. I don’t know. I didn’t look close enough._

You sighed as Mellie left the bathroom. _Does it even matter?_ A quiet voice spoke up inside a lonely corner of your mind, _he’s gone. It’s time for you to start picking up the pieces._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, we're getting closer and closer to the end. :( 
> 
> Stay strong. Happy ending WILL happen.


	16. Chapter 16

* * *

You drummed your fingers anxiously against the steering wheel as you passed highway exit after highway exit, leading yourself further and further away from West Virginia. Away from _home_. It’s only temporary, you remind yourself, but it still felt unnatural.

As if a piece of you was still left behind.

You couldn’t wallow in the past and you couldn’t predict the future.

This was your first step toward building a future that was your _own_.

As you swipe your identification card along the reader to park your car in the lot, a rock settles in your stomach. You had spent the past six hours crammed into your car, switching radio stations, chewing your lips, and rehearsing what you were going to say. If anything, the mounting anxiety in your gut was a distraction to the echoing pain still lingering inside your heart.

_Space away will be good for you._ Mellie had said, filling your passenger seat with snacks for the road and bottles of water. _I promise I’ll look after everything. You do what you gotta do._ You hugged her tight, the fragrant and sweet vanilla perfume filling your nose and reminding you of nights spent painting toenails and Mellie speeding down service roads with her hair down.

Your sneakers squeaked against the polished, white floors. The co-workers who passed you were cordial, gave passing greetings, and exclaims of surprise, but you didn’t linger. This place with its sterile walls and cubicles, all grey and white and black, felt like a cage constricting your lungs.

You already longed for the rich orange, red, and yellow and scent of bonfires and cypress trees.

“Agent Grayson, someone to see you.” Her secretary said with a clipped, polite tone.

Sarah looked up from her desk and her jaw dropped, eyes widened, and you managed a weak, passing smile. You wiped your clammy fingers on your jeans.

“Have a minute?”

“Jesus—” She muttered your name, “Of course. Shut the door.”

She motioned for you to sit in one of the leather metal-framed chairs in front of her desk. You twisted your fingers on your lap.

“Can I get you a coffee or anything?” Sarah asked, her brows pinching together as she read your face, “You look…”

“It was a long drive.” You cut in with another placating smile plastered on your face.

She spoke your last name with a severe tone. As if to admonish you (which…she likely was). “I haven’t heard from you. I was worried. We almost sent someone out there.”

“Sorry.” You shook your head, containing every ounce of nerves and trying to quiet your thundering heart, “Agent Grayson. I regret to inform you that – uh -I wasn’t able to find anything important about the Logan Family. Or their involvement. Or the involvement of their associates.” Your eyes fell to your feet, toes scrunching inside your sneakers, your body tensed to run. “It is my professional opinion that this case remains closed…and…as a personal note – I wanted to say that – I’m sorry.”

You heard, rather than saw, Sarah, exhale loudly.

“Damn.” There’s the sound of paper rustling and you finally look up to find that her face is screwed tight in concentration. “When you told me, you were getting close to Clyde—” Your heart squeezed painfully inside your chest at the mention of his name –“I had hope that we’d have a real lead soon.”

There’s a few moments of silence.

Sarah is the first to break it.

“Ah, well, it’ll be nice to have you back. We’re up to our eyeballs in work.” A smile lifted the corner of her lips, but it abruptly fell after you cleared your throat. Sarah had the uncanny ability to read people. Or maybe it was just _you_ that she could read.

“The other reason I’m here is to announce my resignation.” There was no turning back now. “I came to collect my things from my desk and return my gun and badge.”

She laughed – quick and short. Her head shaking as she – again – fiddled with the files on her desk. “No.” She shook her head, “You’re kidding. Who put you up to this? Did you run into Clarke on your way up here?”

“Sarah.” You leaned forward, “This is it for me. I came to tell you in person because—” You swallowed, licking your lips, “I saw – I see you as a friend first and boss second. I felt you deserved to know before I began the official paperwork.”

“Fuck.” Sarah looked down and away, wrestling with whatever emotion had captured her in this moment. You could sense and read her disbelief, but there was something _else_ there, too. She rested her elbows on her desk, interlacing her fingers and setting her chin on top of them. “Is there nothing I can do or say to make you stay?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“Was it this assignment?” She pressed, “Did I not give you enough support? Was it too much?”

You shook your head, “Honestly, this assignment was…it taught me more about myself than I ever thought possible.” You chuckled a little, the sound broken and sad, but you pushed through. “I just realized that I’ve outgrown this place – this job. I’ve outgrown D.C.” You sniffed and pushed back the tears. This chapter was closed. It was over. The job that was so closely tied to _who you were_ was now gone. It was almost surreal. You’d never walk through these doors again. You’d never steal a doughnut from the break room. You’d never stay up late, a lukewarm coffee beside you, with case files littering the surface of mahogany.

Sarah stood from her desk, walking around the hard, shiny wood, and opening her arms. “Come here. I’m not letting you leave without a hug.”

Unable to help yourself, you laughed. And you let yourself be enveloped in her embrace. She hugged you tight. Once upon a time, all you had ever wanted was her recognition and the recognition of your peers. To have an office like this, with a big window overlooking the city, and responsibilities on your shoulders that could change the fate of so many lives.

So much had changed in so few months.

“I am proud of you, kid.” She said in a fierce tone, “I’d almost beg you to say but I’m developing a reputation of being a hard-ass around here and I don’t want to ruin it.”

“Thank you.” A hot tightness welled up inside your throat. You quickly wiped your cheeks when you pulled away.

Sarah held you by the shoulders at arm’s length and smiled, “All the work you’ve done, the cases you’ve closed, and the people you’ve _helped._ That doesn’t disappear just because you’re moving on. Keep my number, okay?”

You nodded, wiping your face once more, “Okay.”

XXX

Once everything had been returned to the Bureau, paperwork filed, and goodbye-party celebrated, you could feel the weight lifted from your shoulders. Mellie called you the second you texted her that you gave your resignation. She, like Sarah, was fiercely proud of you.

The next task was to clean out your apartment and figure out the rest of the lease. It kept you busy enough that the only time you thought of Clyde was right before you drifted off to sleep. That was – in itself – its own blessing.

You cleared out pantsuits and blazers, oxford loafers, and threadbare college t-shirts. You purged yourself of old mementos that only served to collect dust. Box after box, in the trash or in the donation bin, you cataloged and prioritized everything that would come with you. Back _home_.

You sat on your floor with a glass of wine and read through your old writing journals from high school. You smiled at the cliché puns and terrible metaphors. And you wondered what that bright-eyed girl would say if she saw you now.

You scrubbed the kitchen and bathroom till your knees were raw, your skin sweaty, and your back sore. You put all your frustration into the sudsy water and let the acrid, chemical smell burn your nostrils and burn up any lingering feelings of anger still holding up inside you. It was mostly anger at _yourself_. For being foolish, for not telling the truth, and sometimes it was anger at others – for Sarah and her impossible task, for Clyde and his nosiness which led to the destruction of your relationship. Yes, it wasn’t _fair_ to blame him. You knew that. But, in the quiet contemplation and privacy of your old home, you could feel whatever you needed to feel. You could curse his name up and down and then curse your own ten times over.

The next two weeks became a cycle of cleaning/decluttering, destroying/donating, healing/growing. You plucked the still-alive cactus from its cheery spot on your windowsill and gently placed it inside its own box with some of your books.

A memento of your own resilience. 

You scribbled the word ‘ _KITCHEN_ ’ in Sharpie along the side. Then, your doorbell rang.

“Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Joe Bang said with a grin, “Cute top.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping aside so Joe and his brothers could enter your old apartment, and made a quick, conspicuous glance at your tank top. You could see your bra through it. Unthinkingly, you had thrown it on because the day was unseasonably warm for October.

“Perve.” You muttered with a quick thwack to Joe’s shoulder.

“That’s the thanks I get for comin’ all this way?” He said in his usual drawl as he surveyed the now-emptied place.

“I’ll thank you once all this shit is loaded up and we’re back in Boone.” You quipped back, settling your hands on your hips. It felt good to see him. It felt good to know that in less than seven hours, you’d be back home.

“You could always thank me in other ways.” Joe said, winking, “I’ve been told I’m a great rebound.”

“Fuck off!” You laughed. This laughter was warmer than the time you laughed in Sarah’s office. It was stronger. Because you were starting to find your footing again. You were coming back to life.

XXX

The leaves were beginning to drop from the trees and float, aimless, across driveways and parking lots. Yet, Boone was still in full, vibrant autumn color. Your smile pulling wide and hurting your cheeks as you pull into your driveaway and notice _far_ too many cars.

“Surprise!” Mellie popped her head out the living room window as you walked to the front door, “I got us pizza and heavy-lifters.”

“Mels, you’re an angel.”

The U-Haul came screeching in and parked behind you with several toots of the horn. Jimmy, Mellie, and Sylvia came outside, and each took turns giving you a quick, firm hug – claiming they were glad to see you, they were happy you were back, and they were happy to help. And you believed them.

Because despite what happened between you and Clyde. These people still felt like family.

And once you were settled back in, with your own clothes and things - life started to develop the tones and hues of normalcy once more.

It’s a little harder to think less of Clyde when you live in the same town. You avoided his bar. It’s the principle of the thing. Everyone needs their own space and there are _other_ bars. Truthfully, you don’t even know if you’d be welcome there. So, you avoided it. And each time you drove by, your heart hurts just a _little_ less.

You went to a Pumpkin Farm with Sadie and Sylvia, carved pumpkins, and ate candied apples. You let Mellie cut your hair and as you spun in the chair, you felt another weight lift from your shoulders. Another piece of yourself clinking back into place. You volunteered with the church and their Meals-on-Wheels. Another piece of yourself, the desire to help others, being fulfilled.

You write. A lot. Enough that the book you once pitched to Clyde is now finished. A story of lies and family, of an honest nurse and a suave, gentle-mannered detective (Who, in your private thoughts, you imagine looking like Joe Bang). You spent your evenings going through it and combing for errors and scenes to re-write. It kept your mind occupied. For a time, anyway.

And then – one day – you pulled the large, yellow legal pad from inside the drawer in your desk. And without thinking, you wrote ‘ _Dear Clyde’_ …

You told him everything that you had wished to before – about your family, your few friends, your work at the Bureau – the victories you had, and the defeats you suffered. You wrote about how you always considered yourself to be a workaholic – where career meant _everything_. Until you came to West Virginia. Until you met him and his family and this community who showed you a different way of life. You wrote about how foreign it all seemed to have so many people be so kind and generous toward you after living so long in a cut-throat environment.

Finally, once that was all off your chest, and covering three whole pages – you wrote about him.

_I am so sorry. I understand that keeping the truth from you was hurtful no matter how well-intentioned I was._

_As I learned to know you and your family – I can’t tell you how many nights I laid awake telling myself I should just cut and run. I know it doesn’t excuse my behavior. It doesn’t erase the hurt that I caused you and your family. It doesn’t repair the broken trust._

_I fell in love with you, Clyde. That was the reason I stopped working the case. I had evidence that I could bring to my boss at any time, but I chose not to. Because I wanted to stay here as long as I could, and for the first time in my life – I wanted to be selfish._

_When this all began – I wanted so **badly** to be recognized by my peers. I wanted to make a name for myself in my career. It felt like I had this aching emptiness inside. Then, slowly, that emptiness started to fade away. And I was scared…because I was afraid that if I told you the truth, then you’d rightfully leave, and the emptiness would return again._

_But here’s the crazy part – you left, and it hurt like hell, but I wasn’t empty anymore. I miss you like crazy. I know I still love you and I’m still **in** love with you. Yet, I’m so much happier living here than I ever could be back in the city. I love this town. I love Mellie. I love you._

_I’m writing this because I want you to know that what I felt for you was real, that everything we shared – together – was real. And…you deserve to be loved, Clyde. You are an incredible, loyal, generous, brave, beautiful, and amazing man. You helped me to heal that emptiness inside, you showed me how to have fun again, and you showed me how to **live,** and for that – I’ll always be grateful. _

You chewed your lip, your nose leaking snot and the tears pinpricking behind your eyelids. You sniffled, gathered your courage, and wrote the final line. It’s not like you were going to _give_ him the letter right now. This was just for you. An exercise to heal. Either you’d give him the letter someday or it would sit in your desk drawer for the next few years.

_~~If we had a chance for us to try again…~~_ You sighed, _I’m sorry. I know that I cannot expect your forgiveness. I just hope that I can earn back the friendship we had._

Your chest ached with longing. It would be easy to cram in declarations of love, of promises of change, a request to try again and get it right this time. But that wasn’t how the world worked.

Your phone buzzed beside you, Mellie’s contact photo illuminating the screen – “Hello?”

“TELL ME YOU WANNA GET DRUNK TONIGHT!?”

You snorted, your eyes glancing over at your calender, “What do you have in mind?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi im not giving up on this story im just slow
> 
> xoxoxo love u


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, if you want ambiance (when we reach the party), listen to “Daddy Issues but you’re in a bathroom at a party” on Youtube or this entire playlist https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XiMEGOyEyZo

* * *

You opened your bathroom window, letting the mild autumn air chill through your home as you got dressed for the evening.

“Areyufreallyvearingdhat?” Mellie’s head popped around the corner. A pair of plastic vampire teeth shoved awkwardly into her mouth and distorting her speech.

“What?” You finished lacing up your top.

She spat out the teeth, “Are you really wearing that? We’re _vampires_! Vampires are supposed to be sexy.” Mellie gave a little shimmy of her exposed shoulders. Her black strapless dress was tight against her tan skin and she had artfully done her own makeup complete with smokey eyeshadow and fake blood dripping around her mouth.

“Mellie, we’re going trick or treating _first_ – right?”

“Uh.” She blinked, “Yeah. That’s the plan.”

“I’m not wearing club clothes to go knock on doors of dentists and accountants.” You said with a little smile as you ran your hairbrush through your hair.

Mellie made a face, “First off.” She popped the vampire teeth back into her mouth, getting them secure before speaking, “No one in this town is an accountant.”

Mellie was prepared for the after-party with her snug dress, short velvet cloak, and high heel while you had found a last-minute costume of an emerald-colored gown with a lace bodice and frilly cuffs. Mellie insisted on doing your makeup and it had resulted in lots of gray eyeshadow, thick mascara, and dark red lipstick with glitter smeared on your cheekbones.

“You look like Tom Cruise in that vampire movie,” Mellie said as she passed you a pair of plastic vampire teeth. “Only hotter.”

You laughed, “Thank you.”

As if on cue, a horn beeped outside.

“That’ll be Jimmy and the girls. Let’s go.”

XXX

The suburbs were crawling with groups of families and mischievous teenagers. Not a single house had turned off their lights. Fake cobwebs decorated autumn trees, animatronics of screaming witches and laughing ghouls sent children shrieking into their parent’s arms, glowsticks and flashing lights alerting cars and people in the dark of all who had come out tonight on All Hallow’s Eve. The air smelled crisp and alive with the sound of laughing and choruses of children shouting, “Trick or Treat!” at every doorstep or porch.

Sadie was dressed as a zombie chef and she had her zombie-groans down perfectly. Sylvia and Jimmy were scarecrows – which – was mostly just wearing flannel, jeans, and then straw hats. Mellie had given them both a hard time for their “lack of creativity.” All-in-all, your group made quite the collection of characters. Your mind couldn’t help but imagine what Clyde would dress up as – if he’d dress up at all? You tried to visualize him, hulking as a vampire with you and Mellie, with plastic vampire teeth and fake blood. He was certainly pale enough to be one. The thought gave you a passing smile before it was washed away with melancholy.

You gave a small shake of your head to clear your mind. You had to stay present.

“Doin’ alright?” He asked.

“Yeah.” Your throat felt tight, as it tended to when you found yourself around Jimmy. Mellie had expressly given her forgiveness. You and Jimmy never had an explicit conversation after the fallout between you and Clyde. And despite the fact that he still accepted you around his family, you still felt… _guilty_. The guilt of what happened between you and Clyde bubbling up inside your chest. Interacting with Jimmy made you wonder how Clyde was. It made apologies and questions press against your tongue.

You swallowed them back. You blinked back the tears – afraid to ruin all of Mellie’s hard work on your vampire makeup.

“Look, I’m – uh – I’m not good at this sort of thing.” His voice was soft, awkward. Painfully, you remembered Clyde. How unsure and soft-spoken he could be. Sadie, Sylvia, and Mellie had left you on the sidewalk as they hurried with another group of children to the next house.

“It’s okay, Jimmy, you don’t have to.” A familiar, embarrassed flush began to heat your face.

“No, no-” He took off his hat, tearing his hand through his short hair, “I _do_.” His face was illuminated a washed-out orange from streetlamps and flickering Halloween decorations. “When me and Bobbi Jo split it was…” His lips pressed together, “It was fucking _hard_. I told myself I had to keep being strong for the sake of Sadie, even though she was just a baby. But, you know, the thing I learned was that I could rely on people. My family.” He gave a pointed look over to Mellie, “My friends.” And then he looked back at you. “No matter how shitty things got and trust me – they got _shitty_. I wasn’t alone.”

You bit down on your lower lip as the swell of emotions threatened to drag you under. You would **_not_** cry outside some random dentist’s house while they handed out sugar-free candy to disappointed children.

“I – I just want you to know that you’ve got friends here. We like you…and I hope one day you can tell me the whole story. And you can always call – you know – I hope – you can always call if you need help.” He shrugged, crushing the straw hat between his hands before realizing what he was doing and hurriedly trying to fix it.

“Thank you.” You choked the words out. It took every ounce of willpower not to just tell him everything right _now_. You had no clue what Clyde told him. You only knew that Mellie had told Jimmy that you had made a mistake, but not an unforgivable one and that she wouldn’t end your friendship over it.

“Daddy!” Sadie came running over, her painted face split into a wide grin, “The house down there, I heard someone say they got KING SIZES!”

Jimmy perked up, “King sizes?!” He replied, matching Sadie’s enthusiasm, “What the hell we waitin’ for? C’mon!” He shoved his straw hat, now a little lopsided, back onto his head.

Mellie looped her arm with yours, “My feet are fucking killin’ me.” She muttered under her breath. You tried not to laugh, letting Mellie lean on you for support, and made your way to the house with the king-size candy bars.

XXX

You and Mellie got a ride to the “Most incredible Halloween Bash of the Year”(Mellie’s words). Climbing out of the car, you could already hear the thumping bass music coming from the large, colonial house. The front balcony was decorated with flashing purple and orange lights. You could see skeletons in various poses around the yard – in lawn chairs, hiding behind trees, playing cards on a plastic table. Each time the front door opened, a trail of fog came tolling out and down the steps.

“Makeup check!” Mellie turned your face to hers, clutching your chin as she reapplied your lipstick. You walked together, arm-in-arm, to the house. There were a few guys dressed as football players on the front porch, the sweet smell of tobacco wafting around their heads, and they smiled at you and Mellie. Mellie, _naturally_ , smiled right back – flashing her fangs and all.

The music hit you at full force as you pushed the door open. A large cream and gold entryway complete with a sparkling chandelier overhead. It was a _little_ gaudy, but you had to appreciate the effort of whoever hung those spiderwebs all over the ceiling. To your left, appeared to be a sitting room of some kind, packed to the brim with costumed adults. As Mellie pulled you through, your eyes drank in all the sights and sounds. You saw more than ten nurses, short-skirt cheerleaders, NASCAR drivers, cowboys, and a single person dressed as a hot dog. Along with the music, there was the loud hum of shouting conversations, raucous laughter, and drunk hooting and hollering. The walls vibrated with people and music.

Mellie pulled you further through the bodies, smelling of beer and sweat and perfume until you reached the dining area. The heavy oak dining table was laden with food and red Solo cups packages. There were guests mingling with paper plates and shouting conversations with each other. There were several boxes of pizza, some open, some not, and bowls of chips and salsa – you grabbed a pizza slice before Mellie could pull you in deeper. You hadn’t eaten since this morning and if this party was any indicator – you needed to have _something_ in your stomach. You didn’t want a repeat of the last time you got drunk and wound up throwing up in the toilet.

You reached the kitchen, which clearly had become a _bar_. The kitchen island was cluttered with bottles of liquor and mixers and _more_ cups. You spotted a sultry looking pirate with her leg hooked over Spider-Man’s waist as they made out against the counter. Distantly, you could hear people shouting “Shots! Shots! Shots!” The energy was fervent, electric, and thrumming. Mellie had told you this party often hosted over a hundred people each year. It felt like _more_. Your heartbeat inside your throat. Would _Clyde_ be here?

“Mellie!” Someone shouted from your left.

“Hey! Rosco!” She let go of your arm for a half-second to hug her friend (dressed as a robot). “This is my friend—” She introduced you. “Tell me they’ve got the punch this year.”

“Oh yes.” Rosco said, lifting his cup, “This way, ladies.” He led you to the back corner of the kitchen where the table was set up with two men behind it. Behind the men, another table, with more alcohol lined up and a large, crystal punch bowl. The punch was a bright green color, and you could see ice cubes and lemon slices floating around it. But why wasn’t it on the kitchen island with the rest of the alcohol? Or in the dining room with the food?

Rosco looked over at you, reading your confused expression, “They keep it separate from everyone cuz it’s _fucking_ strong and someone almost died from alcohol poisoning.” He yelled over the music to you. You blinked at him.

“Your arm, please.” One of the men behind the table said, which Mellie offered easily, and he gave her a neon pink paper band on her wrist. You recognized it as the same things people get when they got into concerts.

“It’s to keep track of how many times you’ve had the punch.” Mellie said, with a shrug, “We’re very serious about not _dyin’_ around here.” You noticed Rosco already had two bands on his wrist – one pink, one yellow.

“Maybe I should—” You glanced over at the alcohol on the kitchen island.

“One cup won’t kill you!” Mellie shook your arm, “C’mon. Then you can make all the virgin daiquiris you want.” You took the offered cup from Mellie and accepted the neon pink wristband. The punch tasted vaguely of Sprite. You couldn’t detect the taste of alcohol in it. No wonder someone almost drank too much.

“Alright, one cup won’t hurt. If I die – I’ll haunt **_both_** of you.” You threatened with a slight smile. Mellie whooped and knocked back a swallow of her drink. You mingled and socialized in the kitchen with Mellie until you had both finished your punch drinks and got one more. You promised yourself that you wouldn’t go to the limit of three because the world already started getting blurry and hazy. And you _wanted_ to remember this night.

“Come on, let’s go to the maze,” Mellie said, red-painted nails still on your arm. As if she was afraid to let you go.

“Maze!?” Your eyebrows shot upward. She led you throw the sliding glass doors. Sure enough – this fucking house had a _hedge_ maze. You gawked, swallowed more of your drink, and chased after Mellie as she let go of your arm and ran into the bushes. They were covered in that gauzy spiderweb with plastic spiders interspersed between leaves and branches and tiny fairy lights were wrapped around to illuminate the hedges. It gave the entire space a whimsical, yet spooky ambiance.

You laughed, your feet felt light, and so did your heart. You ran into Mellie’s back as she hit a dead-end and threw her head back in a giggle. You spun around together and took off in another direction, trying the right way instead of the left, and wound up in a circle – nearly running into a devil and angel drunkenly dancing while they walked.

“I thought you knew the way!” You joked as she grabbed your hand.

“What? What gave you that idea?!” She pulled you along, “Drinking game! Each dead-end – we drink. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes, but a smile stretched your face and warmed your cheeks, “Deal.”

In darkened corners and dead-ends, there were plenty of guests laughing, smoking, or kissing or God- _knew_ -what-else. Yet, you could hardly pay attention. It became a swirl of fairy lights and spiderwebs with Mellie’s hand anchoring you to the earth. More than once – someone tried to come around a corner and scare you.

Sometimes, it worked. Most times – though – you and Mellie just launched into uproarious laughter. And you had finished your drink well-before reaching the center of the maze. A statue fountain was set up in the center, depicting cherubs pouring water into the basin, their little stone faces weathered from time. Someone had stuck a top hat on one of them.

You sat on the edge, looking down at the glittering pool, the pennies shimmering in the light.

“What would ya wish for?” Mellie asked sitting on the edge and staring up at the starlight sky above.

You screwed up your face in concentration, “Dunno.” It felt too pathetic to say, _Clyde_. Even if that’s what your heart whispered.

“I’d wish for wings,” Mellie said, trailing her finger through the water and casting ripples across it. “I think I’d look great with wings.”

You blinked blearily over at your friend, “Aw, _Mels_.” You smiled, flicking water over to her.

“I’m gonna sneak over there and pee in the bush.” She pressed her finger to her lips, “Be right back!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at her expression. And just like that – you were alone. The fountain burbled beside you, pennies glittering below and distorting your reflection. You took a deep breath and replayed the evening in your mind. _Jimmy_. He had seemed genuinely concerned about you…and authentically wanted to offer his friendship.

Being friends with Mellie was easy. She offered warmth, laughter, and support. She loved her brothers but seemed to love _you_ just as much. She never pressed about Clyde. She never dug up your past to shame or guilt you for it.

You were afraid – you realized – that it would be complicated to be friends with Jimmy because of his closeness to Clyde. You flicked at the water again. Maybe that was _stupid_. Maybe you just needed to be brave.

You looked up from the fountain and your breath caught inside your throat.

The hedge lights stopped twinkling.

The sounds of laughter and music died away.

Dark, soulful, brown eyes stared at you. His jaw working and his fists close to his sides.

 _Clyde_.

You hadn’t realized you said it aloud until you saw his expression shift. His eyebrows raising, his mouth parting, and his foot taking a step forward. A heartbeat passed.

Fuzzy, pressing darkness edged at the corner of your vision and it began to blur. A constricting tightness grasped your throat. You scrambled, trying to take deep breaths, trying to regain _control_. Last time you saw him – you had slammed a door in his face. Your heart thundered inside your ears and you can feel heat suffuse through your face and down your neck.

Clyde – his expression closed off. He looked away, jaw flexing, and then turned around. The shadows closing around him as the hedge maze swallowed him up and you remained, stone-faced as the cherubs behind you, clutching the edges of your sanity.

You blinked, feeling the hot tears swell and drip down your cheeks. Was that even _real_? Was he even here? You _needed_ to talk to him. He wasn’t even dressed up. Why was he – what was he? The questions swirled inside your foggy mind as you stumbled to your feet and took off running into the maze.

Your hands scrape against the sharp edges of branches and leaves and plastic spider-legs as you run through, hitting dead-end after dead-end, your skirt billowing outward as you spin around and back-track. You can feel your hair becoming loose from the style that Mellie had dressed it up. The sweaty tendrils sticking to your temples as you try to track him down. Your mind keeps repeating the scene of Clyde standing at the mouth of the hedge maze looking lost, and sad, and _shocked_. You should’ve run to him then. Should’ve jumped forward and spilled out apologies and ask how he was and not been such a _coward_. A hot flash of anger gripped your lungs.

Blessedly, you find the exit. You gasped as if breathing fresh air for the first time. You gather up the long skirt of your Victorian dress, the color shimmering in the flickering party lights, and rushed up the porch stairs into the house.

“Clyde!” You yelled, rather hopelessly over the thumping music and the sounds of the party swelling around you. “Clyde!”

Shoulders and arms bumped you as you moved your way through the crowds. Laughter echoed inside your skull. Your eyes – frantic – searched above heads. He would tower over everyone. You could find him. You _could_. You slid between two Darth Vaders that were _clearly_ hotboxing inside their helmets. You coughed through the heady sweet-smelling smoke and broke through, into the hallway, past and through the jampacked bodies. You saw people handholding and walking upstairs. Would he—you pushed down the thought.

_Just because **you** didn’t get a rebound doesn’t mean he **wouldn’t**._

You pushed that thought away as well. Pushed it _deep_ down inside yourself. You muttered half-hearted apologies and “excuse me’s” as you shoved through the throng of people and into the gilded entryway with its sparkling chandelier. There were fewer people in this space. Mostly because there was no booze or food here. You stood at the center of the room, looking around, the weight of reality crushing your insides into a paste.

There was no way you were going to find him here. And, even if you did, what would happen next?

Your eyes fell to the floor. He made it clear. So _very_ clear. That he wanted _nothing_ to do with you. He never called. Or texted. He essentially fell off the face of the planet. Because…it was truly over for him. Just because Mellie gave you a second chance. Just because Jimmy wanted to be friends. That didn’t mean that things were repaired between you and Clyde.

It wasn’t like he came to this party to see _you_.

You swiped your palms across your wet, sticky cheeks to banish the tears. The evidence of your soft heart. You went to the coat closet, getting your bag and jacket, and with shaky fingers, you called someone – a friend – to bring you home.

XXX

“C’mon, I know what that punch is like,” Jimmy said, passing you a water bottle after buckling you into the passenger seat. You let your head fall against the window and took the bottle without argument. He climbed into his truck, “I already texted Mellie to let her know I was bringin’ you home and that if she wanted a ride to let me know.”

“Thanks.” Your throat felt raw – either from yelling to talk at the party, or crying, or screaming after Clyde. Maybe it was all three. “I feel bad about leaving her.”

“Halloween is her favorite.” Jimmy chuckled, “Trust me. She won’t be bored.”

“Okay.” You screwed your eyes shut and tried to banish the memory of Clyde. The night had been going so _perfectly_. You had been dancing, and talking, and laughing, and chasing Mellie through a bewitched maze.

“D’you mind if I put on the radio?”

“No.”

The truck cabin filled with the excited chatter of a radio DJ before switching to a song you don’t recognize, but the lyrics hit especially close to home as you try to focus and hear them. They tug at your heartstrings and begin to unravel your defenses.

You tried to keep it together as the words shakily came out—“I want to tell you the whole story.”

You saw Jimmy glance at you out of the corner of your eye. “Uh – alright.”

It was like a dam bursting. You let it out – all the story – the assignment, building a relationship with Clyde and everyone else, feeling trapped and confused, Clyde finding the USB, destroying the USB with Mellie, quitting your job. Jimmy only injected when he needed clarification, but he mostly stayed quiet, driving, his fingers flexing on the steering wheel ever-so-often.

“Even if I had found anything about the heist – I wouldn’t have been able to bring it to Sarah.”

Jimmy frowned, “Why not?”

“Because you’re _good_.” You wiped at the few errant tears that escaped, “All of you are. You’re better than anyone I knew back in the city and at the end of the day…I’d rather put murderers in jail instead of a man who just wants to send his kid to college.”

You paused and the weight is heavy, but you push through. You choose to be brave.

“I came back here because here is _home_ now. For me. Even if I never have the chance to make things right with Clyde.” You take a sip of water to ease your throat.

“You loved him?” Jimmy asked, stealing a glance over to you.

“I do.” It still felt strange to try and say it in past tense. You didn’t feel like it was in the past. Not for you. Not yet.

“Well, damn.” He rubbed his jaw, “Thanks for telling me all this. I only knew bits and pieces from Mels.”

“Yeah…well…” You took another sip of water, “That’s what friends do, right? They trust each other with their bullshit.”

“And apparently friends sometimes work for the FBI and are secret undercover agents.” He said with a soft chuckle.

“Only _sometimes_.”

XXX

“C’mon, here we go. Easy.” Jimmy helped you into your place, unlocking your door, and guiding you to your bedroom. You winced as he turned on the bedroom lamp and hovered by your desk for a moment.

“You don’t have anything left on that laptop, right?” He asked. You sat on the foot of your bed, clumsily unlacing your boots, and letting them drop with a – _thunk_! – to the floor.

You shook your head and then abruptly stop when you realize that it made the earth spin too fast. “No. Everything was on the USB.” You thought about taking off your costume, but the lace and zippers felt like too much work and you weren’t about to ask Jimmy for help.

You scrambled backward, kicking back the covers, and letting your face fall into your pillow. “Thanks, Jimmy.”

You feel a rough, calloused hand brush some hair away from your face, “Anytime, Double Oh-Seven.”

Your heart softened with the endearment. The world stopped spinning with blurred colors and sounds and your brain clicked off into a dead dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter made me miss Halloweeeeeen.
> 
> Also, Clyde POV chapter is next! Thanks for staying with me!!!


	18. Chapter 18

* * *

He’s no stranger to heartbreak, but damn if this one doesn’t feel soul- _crushing_. Clyde threw himself into the motions of his day. He woke up, brushed his teeth, did his physical therapy exercises for his prosthetic, and then went into his work-out routine. He made coffee. He tucked the mugs you liked to use into the back of his cabinet.

He sat on his porch, watching the morning mist begin to burn away as the sun rose, and drank his coffee without company or conversation. Only his thoughts. Which – painfully – centered around _you_.

The first night after he left, he could still smell your shampoo on your pillow in his bed. He had tossed the pillow away and then, resigned, crawled out of bed, and slept on the couch. Enough time had passed now…there was no _way_ your scent could still linger. But, sometimes, he swore he could—Clyde bit his tongue and cursed.

His feet dragged him to the sink where he washed out his mug and set it on the drying rack. He tried not to think about making you dinner in this same kitchen. He tried not to think about you setting your hip against the counter, your arms folded, with your lips upturned into a smile. He tried not to think about the way you’d raise up on your toes to kiss him.

Clyde pressed his palms into his eyes. He willed away the stinging sensation that burned behind them.

He recalled the breathing techniques taught to him in therapy. Repeated them. Again and again until his heart rate was back to normal. He shoved a few books into a backpack, along with a thermos, and left the quiet cabin he called home.

He drove through the backroads and service roads through Boone County. He had too much time. Too much time to think. Too much time to reflect. Clyde parked his truck and walked up the leaf-fallen trails. The vibrant golds and reds were beginning to fall away. The steady beat of his heart and the muscles pumping as he climbed kept him grounded. He only had to focus on walking up, up, up, until reaching the summit of the hiking trail.

His broad shoulders hunched as he crouched through the low hanging tree branches and found a place on the mountain side to sit down. He stared out at the blue, cloudless sky, at the sleepy town below and opened his book. His thermos sat beside his thigh, untouched.

You stopped calling him a long time ago.

He tried to not let that bother him. It was a good thing. It meant you had moved _on_. It meant that he must’ve made the right call. There was no future for you together. Clyde swallowed past the tightness in his throat. He turned the page, kept reading, until the words began to blur together.

He ate lunch up here and walked back down the mountain about an hour later. He showered when he got home. He ignored the reality that your toothbrush was still in the holder next to his. As if you weren’t really _gone_. As if you had just taken a long trip and would be home again soon.

Clyde scrubbed his hands over his face. Inhale. Exhale. He stood, dripping wet, in front of his closet and picked out a shirt for tonight’s shift at the bar. He had only seen you a handful of times since the breakup. Yet, each memory felt like holding glass in his hands.

Once, at Mellie’s, and you had slammed the door in his face. He heard you retching into the toilet and every instinct inside of him begged him to _help_ you. To go in, pull your hair away from your face, and rub your back. He remembered thinking you still looked beautiful even with your makeup smudged and tired lines around your eyes. But Mellie pushed him away and in hushed tones said, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for her to see you right now.” And Clyde had to agree with his little sister.

The second time, he didn’t even think you knew because it had been _so_ brief. He was walking past the salon where Mellie worked, and he saw you getting your hair cut. You looked better. You were smiling. It should’ve been a balm to his soul – knowing that you were healing, that you were moving forward with your life – but it just made him feel…emptier. Somehow. The regret dug deeper.

And the last time didn’t feel real. It was two weeks ago. Halloween night.

He delivered liquor to the party. He saw you enter the hedge maze with Mellie and—something inside just _snapped_. Even if it was just once glance. One conversation. He just needed to know how you were. He needed to know if you were happy. Because then maybe it would make this all worth it. Maybe it would make his own pain go away if he knew, for sure, that you were OK. He could survive, even if the pain was dull, if only he knew how you were.

So, he followed you and listened to your shrieks of laughter through the hazy maze of smoke and dim lights.

And then there you were. Alone. Sitting on the fountain’s edge like something out of a goddamn fairytale. Your hair coiled and curled, falling around your shoulders, and framing your beautiful face, lashes dark and heavy and gaze staring off, longingly, to the distance. The words bubbled up inside of him.

_I’m sorry._

_I love you._

_Come back._

Your face turned to him. A vice squeezed his heart. The memory of your tears. The memory of your head tipped back in laughter. The memory of your body pressed flush against his. The double-edged sword of _loving_ you and still _hurting_ because you betrayed him. You built all these beautiful memories together on a lie.

So, he did the only thing that made sense. He ran. The world rushed around his ears and numbed the sounds and feelings of everything until he found himself back inside his truck, breathing heavily, staring at the steering wheel.

A stupid part of him thought maybe you’d follow him. And an even stupider part of him thought you might turn up at the bar someday afterward. Each time he heard the door open – he expected you to walk in, wearing the blue dress he met you in, with that pretty smile and flushed cheeks. As if you could start over.

But, the nights passed, without event. He laid in bed haunted by the memory of your eyes, wet with tears, begging him to just _listen_. The regret nagged at him and gave him bad dreams.

XXX

“The first step to forgiveness, Clyde,” His therapist said, pen poised over his notebook, “Is to forgive yourself.”

“For what?” He said, gruffly, eyes darting to his muddy boots, “For being an idiot?”

His therapist pursed his lips, “I don’t think you’re an idiot, Clyde. But is this self-flagellation worth it? What are you punishing yourself for? For falling in love or for leaving her?”

Clyde leaned back into the couch cushions. The familiar burn ached at his throat. It was a long, uncomfortable few minutes of silence as Clyde thought over these words.

“I can’t help but feeling like…” He swallowed, “Like maybe I should’ve stayed?”

“That’s understandable. We’ve discussed, at length, your loyalty and how you pride yourself on sticking by even when things are difficult.” His therapist nodded, “However, you were hurt, and you reacted, and you made a choice to cut her out of your life. If you wanted her to re-enter your life than you would not only need to forgive her, but also forgive _yourself_.”

Clyde worried his hands together, cracking his knuckles.

His therapist paused, “Your life is not a warzone, Clyde. She was not a solider, fallen in battle, that you left to die.”

“But…if I stayed…”

“There a thousand scenarios that might’ve played out if you stayed, Clyde. We are not in that scenario.” He said, not unkind, just firm. “I am not here to dictate how you should live your life. I am only here to give you the tools to help you live the life you _want_ to live. So, what is it you want?”

The clock on the wall ticked by.

His therapist crossed and uncrossed his legs.

Clyde licked his lips, “An apology.”

“Anything else?”

“A chance to…talk.” His knee bounced, “Maybe a chance to try again.”

“In a romantic relationship?” He asked.

Clyde nodded, slowly.

“I am only saying this to prepare you, Clyde.” He set down his pen, “It’s her decision, too.”

“I know that!”

“I am just reminding you that she might decide to let things remain as a clean break. You may never return to what you had before.”

Clyde nodded again.

He was quiet for another moment longer before speaking again, “What can I do?”

XXX

Clyde stared at the blank pages of his journal. He drummed his pen against the kitchen table.

_“Write it out.” His therapist had said, “All your thoughts, feelings, let it be messy. Let it be unorganized. Put everything you wish you could say. Everything you could say to her. To yourself. This is for **you**.”_

_“Then what?”_

_“Up to you. Some of my clients like to burn theirs. Some keep it for reflection.”_

_“I’m not a good writer.”_

_His therapist smiled, “You don’t need to be.”_

Clyde poised the pen over the paper and wrote the first thing that came to mind: _‘I really fucking miss you’._

XXX

The last two weeks of November came and went in a flurry of cloudy storms, windy days, and the anticipating energy of the holiday season. Mellie was already playing Christmas songs. Completely ignoring the fact that Thanksgiving hadn’t happened yet.

He sat on the porch of Jimmy’s place, a paper plate with chocolate cake crumbs on his lap, and a beer in his hand.

“I –“ Jimmy rubbed his jaw, “I want to give you something.”

“You already gave me my gift.” Clyde said, watching the dried leaves scatter across the lawn. It had been a good birthday. Sadie made him a card. He’d put it on his fridge when he got home. And the writing exercises _were_ helping. He still thought of you. Often. Even now, he imagined what it would’ve felt like to have you at the birthday party. He wondered if you’d sit on his lap and if you’d sing as loud as Jimmy does.

He woke up each morning, the aching in his ribs still present, but not _as_ painful. Holding onto the memories of you felt less like glass, now. They were more like metal. They still had sharp edges. He still had to be careful. But at least he could hold them.

“Something else.” Jimmy reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I want to make this clear. I stole this.”

Clyde snorted, “What else is new?” He reached out across the space between their two lawn chairs and grabbed the folded yellow paper with his fingertips.

“I’m gonna leave you to it.” Jimmy said with a grunt as he pulled himself out of his chair, limping back inside, “Hey! We got any more cake!?” He called out, his voice fading as the door shut and Clyde was left alone.

Clyde set his beer down by his feet.

He unfolded the letter.

He didn’t recognize the writing.

His heart thudded – loud and alive – inside his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :,) almost to the end


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to dedicate this final chapter to Rozeatte & FlerghFood. I appreciated your comments all throughout this journey, so this final one is for you.

* * *

You dried your hands off after pulling the plug and letting the soapy water drain down the sink. You had swept your hair away from your face as you cleaned. It was a rare day where you didn’t have _something_ going on. Mellie’s friendship kept you busy, but you had new friends, now, too.

There was Madi. She was one of those rare friendships made through drunken bathroom conversations at some club Mellie had dragged you to. How you managed to exchange phone numbers felt like an act of fate. She was happily married to a gravelly-voiced, dark-haired musician which meant that she often took you to his performances. You left those shows with your throat raw from screaming and glitter all over. And it was through her that you wound up with a job at the local newspaper as a community correspondent.

Then, you met Clara at work. A brunette with the chaotic energy of three iced coffees each morning. She wrote – specifically – for the sports column. She promised to take you to Charleston for a few baseball games once the Spring season started. Every Tuesday, she pushed her desk chair over to yours, took off her oversized blazer and held out her hand for your manuscript. She had a keen eye for editing and her only accepted form of payment was powered doughnuts from Lily’s Bakery.

Clara was confident that with a few months of editing you’d be able to submit it to a publishing house.

You continued your volunteer work with Meals-on-Wheels and you still found yourself having “Girls’ Days/Nights” with Mellie, Slyvia, and now – Madi and Clara came along. They involved manicures, pedicures, movie nights, hiking trips and shopping. You had developed a system of rotating activities so that everyone had a chance to voice what they’d like to do. 

So, yes. Your life was busy. In a good way. In the _best_ way.

You still thought about Clyde. You still _missed_ him. But life was…different….now. You had started to carve a place for yourself in this town. You weren’t ready to date anyone. Not yet.

Sometimes, Madi would point out someone while at a show and wink at you. And at first, the gesture had made your insides squirm with discomfort. Lately, though, it didn’t seem _so_ bad.

You scribbled a note for yourself – December 10th – _Oil Bill Due_ – onto your calendar tacked to the wall. You peeked out the window, the sky brilliant and blue, fooling folk into believing it wasn’t cold outside.

“Right, okay, what’s next?” You muttered to yourself, fiddling with the speaker connected to your phone, and letting the music flow through the kitchen.

You were halfway through sweeping the floor when the doorbell rang.

You pad over, throwing open the door without checking the peephole, “Yes?”

Your mouth went dry.

“Hey.” Clyde said, softly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He hunched his shoulders. As if he could lessen his massive frame standing in your tiny doorway. An onslaught of emotions overtook you as you stared at him standing there with the white snow-dusted, barren trees behind him and the metallic clicking of his truck as the engine cooled. There was a sense of relief, mild as it was, that you were standing in the same space and not hyperventilating.

“Hi.” You respond, a little dumbstruck. Your heartrate erratic inside your chest. You crossed your arms to stop your hands from shaking. You tried to collect your thoughts and rationalize the reason of him being here. Did he forget something? Was he here for Mellie?

“May I come in?”

You swallowed, staring at him, “S-sure. Yeah. Sorry about the mess.”

A brief scoff passed his lips, “This is a mess?” He raised his eyebrows at the room.

You smirked despite the anxiety coiling inside yourself, “I haven’t vacuumed yet.”

A smile almost touched his lips. Your heart jumped.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

It was painful. The politeness. The _awkwardness_. Yet, you were proud of yourself. You were having a conversation to Clyde – the man who both held and broke your heart – and you weren’t crying. You gestured for him to sit on the couch with you.

“I wanted to talk.”

Hope flared inside your chest and you squashed it down and pressed your lips together tightly.

“Sure, of course.”

“Jimmy gave me this letter.” He produced it from the pocket of his coat, “It’s from you.”

Your eyes went wide. _So, that’s where that went._ A hot flush burned down your neck.

“That was personal.” You twisted your fingers together, “I wasn’t – I wasn’t necessarily planning on giving it do you.” You winced softly, “Just being honest, here. It was more of a healing—”

“Writing exercise? “He guessed.

You nodded.

Clyde exhaled slowly.

“I heard you quit your job at the FBI?”

“Yeah.”

“That must’ve been hard.”

You shook your head, “Not really.” You swallowed, pushing past the feeling like you and Clyde were two puzzle pieces that didn’t fit together anymore. “This is my home, now.” You glanced around, “At least, feels like home more than DC ever did.”

“Yeah, I –“ He folded the letter back away, returning it to his coat pocket, “I – fuck.” He sighed, eyes trailing up to the ceiling, “I don’t know how to…” His large hand gestured between you, “Start this conversation.”

“Me either.” You shrugged.

You chuckled together. It was weak. Fragile around the edges. A clear contrast to the booming laughter you had once shared, curled up on his couch together, joking about who _knows_ what. Clyde appeared to be steeling himself to say something else. You decided not to push it. This was an olive branch, and you weren’t going to break it.

“Take your time.” You said, softly, “The only thing you’re keeping me from is the vacuum cleaner.”

You picked at the loose fibers on the couch, waiting, trying not to hope, trying to calm the race of your heart inside your chest, trying to quiet your swirling thoughts—after months of silence, what was his reason for showing up at your door? Could he want to have a conversation about you? About what you did? Did he have questions about the letter?

“I – I’ve missed you. A lot. But I was hurt by what you did.” He said. Each word felt like a heavy stone on your chest. “I’ve read this letter so many times,” He swallowed, whispered your name, “That I’ve got it memorized by now.”

“And I…at the end…you wrote that you wanted to earn back our friendship.” His gaze landed on you. “Is that true?”

“Every word in that letter is true.” You pushed your shoulders back, “Clyde, I am sorry. Truly.”

“I know.” He sighed, “But, what if – what if – I don’t want a friendship?”

The world tilted. The small flame of hope inside your chest that refused to go out was abruptly doused with ice water. Your hands curled on your lap. You felt yourself deflate, shrinking back, trying quickly to mask the sharp pain his words created. You _knew_ this was possible. You even suspected this was how it would play out. That he might forgive you, but never want to be friends or anything else again.

You thought you had made peace with that reality. You swallow past the tight burning inside your chest. And you look away, blinking, to chase away the tears before they can swell.

“What if – what if I want to try again?”

“What?!” Your head snapped back to him, a tear shaking free and trailing down your cheek.

His hand raised, tentative at first, and then his thumb wiped away the tear with such _gentleness_. “I want to be with you.” He said, keeping his eyes locked to yours, “I know it’ll take time. But…if you’re willing…I just wanted you to know that – that I want to be with you. And if you don’t want that, or if you need time to think about it, then that’s OK, too.”

His eyes searched your face. “I’ll be right here.”

“Oh, Clyde.” The sound of his name came out broken, choked onto a sob, “Can – can I - ?” You opened your arms for a hug. There’s no hesitation on his part as he suddenly envelopes you. His large, warm arms wrapped around you tightly and squeeze the breath from your lungs. A pure, unbridled feeling of relief flowed through your veins.

Joy – like no other – pulled your mouth into a smile. It felt like coming home. Solid, warm heat curled around you. The feeling of his heartbeat against your chest. The smell of cypress and pine that clung to him with the heady, smokey scent from the bar. You pressed your nose into his dark green coat.

You squeezed him, nails digging into the fabric of his coat, “I want to be with you, too.” You whispered.

Clyde pulled back, slightly, your name a whisper on his lips.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked and you noticed – as you looked at him – the misting of tears in his eyes.

“Y-yes.”

Your lips met and slotted against his. A blossoming of heat pooled inside your lower belly and spread outward – warm as a bonfire. You gave yourself to the kiss. Your hands sliding up from his shoulders and grasping the back of his neck, his dark, soft hair threading through your fingers. The slight, tickling sensation of his facial hair against your skin as he moved his mouth in tandem with yours. His hands were spread across your back, palms pressing between your shoulder blades and at the middle of your spine, and there’s a slight pull and you shift closer. Another shift and you throw your leg over his hips, sliding your body into his lap, and opening your mouth for him. His tongue slid against yours. The heat that had ignited at the first meeting of your lips is suddenly bursting, burning you up from the inside out.

You tugged at the back of his scalp, urging him to tilt his head back, and Clyde obliged. A low, guttural moan escaped his mouth as you nipped at his lower lip. This was a dance you’d never forget the steps to. A waltz of your hearts.

You pulled away first, staring down into his eyes – the pupils swallowing his dark irises, “Clyde…?”

“Yes?”

You pushed your fingers through his soft hair, nails lightly scratching against his scalp, “We should probably take things slow.”

He grunted. His eyes darting back down to your mouth.

“I can do slow.”

“ _Clyde_.” You couldn’t hide the smile on your face or inside your voice. “I mean it. I want to take our time…we have a chance to get it right.”

“Is…” His hands were on your hips and you could feel the obvious, hard bulge of his cock snug between your legs, and it was very, _very_ difficult to ignore. But Clyde didn’t make any mention of it. “Kissing still okay?”

You bit your lip and then nodded.

“We’ll go at your pace, sweetheart.”

“ _Our_ _pace_.” You stressed, giving his hair a light tug, “I want us to be open and honest with each other every step of the way. I want you to tell me when it’s too much or—”

Clyde leaned up, stopping your words with a kiss that made your head spin.

“Right now,” He said, voice quiet, “I want to kiss you. I’d like to spend the day with you, if that’s alright, help you clean or whatever you need.”

“Okay…”

“And tonight, I’d like to take you to dinner.” Your heart was thumping so loud that you felt as if Clyde could hear it. You were soaring – alight and alive with joy and relief and excitement – and your body tensed with anticipation of the future. A big, bright future with Clyde beside you.

“Clyde Logan!” You grinned at him, your tone teasing, “Are you asking me on a date?”

He smiled back.

“Are you accepting?”

You kissed him.

XXX

You broke the news to Mellie first.

“Oh, thank Goodness for that.” She said, pulling you into a hug, “I knew you two would work it out.” She kissed both your cheeks and declared that a shopping trip for new lingerie was in order. You tried – and failed – to hide your blush.

Jimmy, on the other hand, took your criticism of his meddling with little grace.

“If I didn’t do _somethin’_ , you both would’ve been miserable forever.” Jimmy said, pulling his baseball cap down over his forehead.

“It still wasn’t your place, Jimmy!” You fired back, hands on your hips, but Jimmy just shrugged.

“I’m a lawbreaker, what do you expect?!”

You slapped his shoulder. You could’ve done it _harder_ , but Clyde was smiling at you from the bar.

XXX

The holiday cheer was in full swing at the Logan Household. More _specifically_ , Mellie’s new house. You walked in and your nose was hit with the smell of cinnamon and fresh pine. You shook the snowflakes from your coat as you pulled it off and hung next to the door. The exterior of the house glittered with twinkling white lights, dripping from the rooftop, and circling the tree branches on her front lawn.

You _knew_ that Mellie enjoyed going ‘all out’ for the holidays. Yet, seeing it in person was still something else entirely.

Mellie’s head popped out from around the corner, her face breaking into a smile, a Santa hat drooping to the side on her head, “Hey! You made it!” She came over to wrap you into a hug. The entire house felt _cozy_. You helped Mellie clear out the Christmas decorations from her garage earlier in November and it appeared that she didn’t waste a single piece of tinsel or glittered ribbon. She had lights on every bannister, tiny Christmas trees and snowmen hiding in corners, and crooning Christmas music playing from another room.

Mellie’s heels clicked on the floor as she led you into the kitchen – stifled with heat from the oven and stove. There were side dishes already laid out on the kitchen island. You could hear the steady thrum of conversation in the adjoining living room. Joe Bang’s voice was the loudest.

“Do you need help with anything?” You offered as Mellie busied around the kitchen, stirring something steaming on the stovetop.

“No, thank you, darling. You just relax.” She smiled, the glittery red and green makeup around her eyes sparkling in the bright, overhead light. “Adults are in the living room; the kids have taken over my spare bedroom.” She shot a glare to the ceiling, “ ** _Someone_** thought it would be fun to give them NERF guns.”

“Oh god.” You chuckled as Jimmy entered, catching the tail-end of your conversation.

“Hey, it was an early present from Santa.” He said, placing a hand over his heart, “Could I really deny them?”

“Yes.” Mellie deadpanned. You laughed at her stern expression.

Jimmy greeted you, pulling you into a strong bear-hug. You clutched him back just as tightly. As always, he had that distinct woodsy scent clinging to him. Like sawdust. Jimmy stole a green bean from the casserole dish when Mellie had her backed turned and gave you a conspiratorial wink.

“Can you be useful and take this out to the living room, pleased?” Mellie asked, passing over a platter of assorted crackers, cheeses, and thin sliced meats to her brother.

“I got it.” You said, taking it gingerly from her grasp. She smiled at you and returned to the oven, checking on the ham that was sitting inside a large baking dish. The entire space was heady with aromatic spices and scents – cinnamon, clove, and roasted meats. Your stomach grumbled and you snatched a cracker while you followed Jimmy to the living room.

“How’s Sylvia?” You asked, aware that she’d be late for dinner due to work.

“Good.” He grinned, his features warming at the mention of his girlfriend and you noticed the way his eyes softened. “Between you and me,” He lowered his head to whisper, “I’ve got a surprise planned for her.” He patted his front jean pocket.

Your heart swelled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Knew I could trust ya, double-oh-seven.” Jimmy replied with a smirk. The living room was where most of the decorations had been hung. The massive tree, topped with a magnificent sparking star, nearly touched the ceiling. Red and gold garland encircled it and an array of ornaments hung from the branches – snowflakes, globes of color, reindeer – and you could spot more than a few home-made looking ones. You couldn’t tell if they were from Sadie or if they were from the early days of the Logan family.

Everyone stood when you entered and let you put down the cheese platter onto the coffee table before welcoming you. First was Joe, who rocked back and forth as he hugged you. Then came Bobbi Jo, Jimmy’s ex-wife, who kissed both your cheeks. Her husband gave you a one-armed, shoulder hug. It was a little awkward, but mostly endearing. At least he was trying. He went back to watching football the second he sat back down.

Madi crushed you, peppering kisses to the side of your head, smelling like sweet perfume and wine. She and her husband, Adam, were dressed in opposition. Madi; rosewater colored sparkling dress, white tights, with highlight shimmery across her nose and cheekbones. Her husband in black slacks and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, displaying his arms covered in tattoos, his hair slicked back and away from his angular face – different from how you usually saw it (sweaty and in front of his eyes while performing).

“There you are, beautiful!” She held you at arm’s length, giving your outfit a once-over, “I have to say -the turtleneck looks _amazing_ on you. I am so glad I bought it.” She looked over to her husband, “What do you think, babe?”

Adam grinned, “My wife’s got impeccable taste.” His voice was low and raw, and it never failed to make the back of your neck burn hot. Clara swooped in with a rescue, looping her arm between yours and pulling you away from the couple, “Let the woman breathe!” She teased before pulling you into a tight, squeezing hug.

You flushed as you hugged your friend in return. The amount of welcoming affection was almost overwhelming.

There was a distinct _bang_ from upstairs which sounded an awful lot like someone crashing to the ground.

“Mercy, those boys.” Bobbi said with a gentle roll of her eyes. She leaned back against the couch with her wineglass in hand. Apparently, she wasn’t worried about the noise. You glanced around as everyone settled back into the routine of watching the game, talking, drinking, and snacking.

Clara pulled you over to the couch, patting a spot next to her, as she folded her legs underneath her.

You let yourself fall into the lull of conversation. Clara argued with Bobbi Jo’s husband about the game. Madi propped her chin in her hand and gossiped with Joe – none of it meanspirited – but you caught that it was mainly focused on the latest drama surrounding a recluse who announced his nephew would be coming to town to take over his estate. Everyone seemed curious about who this nephew was and what it would mean for the large property that had been in shambles for the past decade. You filed the information away. It could be useful to for a community column. Adam discussed his upcoming album which was set to release sometime in February. Jimmy, Joe, and Clara eventually started taking bets on regarding the football game on the TV. Rather than use money, they used the crackers and cheese on their plates:

“I bet one cheddar slice that he’ll miss this field goal.” Joe said, glancing around the room with an expression of grim seriousness.

“Who? McLagan? Fuck no. He won’t miss that.” Clara snorted, stacking two cheese slices on top of another, “Raise.”

“I fold.” Jimmy said, popping the cracker into his mouth, “McLagan has had a weird year. I’m not risking this deliciousness on that.”

It was easy. You felt yourself fitting into this world, this place, this _home_ just like an ornament hanging from the tree.

“You’re gambling already, Joe?” A grumbling voice came from behind you. You twisted your spine to see Clyde standing behind the couch, his coat folded over his arm, and a soft smile touched his face as he saw you.

“Lighten up, Clyde. It’s just a bit of _cheddar_.” Joe winked and grinned widely, “And—” He held up his hand, halting conversation as the player lined up for the field goal. Everyone watched as the football flew threw the two goal posts right dead in the center. Clara whooped with joy. Her hand extended for Joe’s cheese slice.

“Lucky shot.” He grumbled, passing it over.

You unfolded yourself from your comfortable spot on the couch, nestled next to Clara, and tried to ignore the steady racing of your heart as you approached Clyde. He slid his arm around your waist as soon as you were close enough – pressing his lips to yours in a swift, firm kiss.

“Hey, darlin.” He touched his forehead to yours, “Enjoying yourself?”

“Very much.” You smiled up at him.

“Well,” Mellie entered the room, wiping her hands with a paper towel, “Now that Clyde’s here – who wants to draw the short straw and try to collect the kids for dinner?” 

Jimmy frowned, half-way getting up from his chair, “Sylvia ain’t here yet.”

“Yeah, she is, dummy.” Mellie thumbed over her shoulder, “She’s been in the kitchen helpin’ me.”

“I’m here!” Sylvia called from the other room, “You’re just bad at checking your phone, Jimmy!”

The room erupted in soft, warm laughter. You pressed your cheek to Clyde’s chest, as his arm was around you still, and listened to the strong thumping heartbeat against your ear. _I love you. I love you. I love you._ You hid the words between each breath.

There was a difference between telling him on paper and telling him in person. His hand slipped from your waist, down your elbow, and interlaced your fingers together.

“We can go wrangle the kids downstairs.” Clyde offered with small tug to your joined hands.

As everyone else collected their drinks and headed to the dining room, you and Clyde went in the opposite direction, to head upstairs and collect Sadie and her stepbrothers.

XXX

“The wrapping paper – oh my – Sadie, over _here_.” Jimmy was fiercely trying to keep any piece of wrapping paper from touching the ground. All wrapping paper had to go into the giant trash bag he was holding. You chuckled, leaning back into Clyde’s chest, as you watched the children devour the presents that Mellie had packed beneath her massive, every-inch-decorated Christmas tree. You sat between Clyde’s legs, his chin resting on the top of your head, completely content and comfortable sitting on the carpeted floor of the living room. Dinner and dessert had been an event of loud conversation and laughter. Now, the adults had coffee and were watching the chaos unfold as wrapping paper and bows went into the air as Jimmy valiantly attempted to keep order.

“Here, this one’s for you, hon.” Mellie tossed a small, neatly wrapped package over to you.

Clyde caught it out of the air.

“Mels.” Your heart squeezed, taking the present from Clyde, and reading the tag, “You didn’t have to.”

“You’re my best friend.” Mellie said with a shrug and a soft smile.

You pulled the red ribbon free and peeled off the snow-man themed wrapping paper. You wracked your brain for what it could be but came up empty. Mellie was one of the most _generous_ people in this world. You could feel Clyde’s breathing tickling the side of your face as he lowered his head to watch you open the gift.

You opened the box and set inside the satin interior was –

A single car key.

“ _Mellie_.” Your throat went tight, and heat pricked behind your eyes. “Mellie, this isn—you didn’t.” You looked up to see Mellie and Jimmy both grinning at you. You felt Clyde’s hand touch your shoulder, rubbing up and down in a soothing manner. You pressed your lips together to stop from crying in the middle of Mellie’s living room.

“It’s technically from all of us.” Jimmy said, looking around the room, “Well, all the _Logans_. I know you like your car but--”

“I was worried about your safety drivin’ around in that old thing.” Mellie interjected before passing a large gift over to one of Bobbi’s boys. “This one is for you _and_ your brother. You monsters.” 

You blinked back the tears.

“You got me a car.” You repeated the words slowly. It felt surreal.

“Hey, if you don’t want it.” Clara piped in, wiggling her eyebrows with an easy-going smile.

“Good God.” You scrubbed a hand over your face, clutching the car key in your other hand, “You _guys_.” You straightened up, twisting and hugging Clyde and pressing a kiss to his cheek, and then climbing to your feet to give Jimmy and Mellie each a hug. Realistically, you understood that the car was likely purchased with the heist money.

But did that matter? No. Not really. Because they were your friends, and they were just looking out for you. As they always did. It was an earth-shatteringly generous gift and the look in Mellie’s eyes after she hugged you suggested that you might as well get used to it.

“You are part of the family.” She whispered to you, pulling you into a second hug, “I love you.”

You choked out a laugh, tears welling in your eyes, “I love you, too.”

As you settled back into Clyde’s embrace, his nose touched the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Come back to my house after?”

You chewed your lower lip, “Of course.”

XXX

It’s late in the evening on Christmas Day when you find yourself with your legs spread wide as you straddled him with Clyde’s mouth attached to your neck. You whimpered as he bit down, leaving a savage imprint of his teeth before soothing the mark with his tongue. You flexed your hips, trying to get some kind of friction against your swollen, aching core. It was like you were two, horny teenagers dry humping at the drive-through movie. It was both frustrating and embarrassing at once. You couldn’t recall a time where you were so _wound up_.

Another agonizing, tantalizing minutes passed as Clyde kissed you and licked your neck, nibbled your collarbones, his hands roaming across your back and down to your bottom.

“You wanna cum?” Clyde asked, his voice rough in the shell of your ear, “We don’t have to have sex yet.” He reminded you and you whined as his hand squeezed your ass. “I bet your soaked.”

You nodded, your brain addled with lust and impatience, and you ground your core down onto him. You both moaned at the same time.

“What about you?” You said in a breathy whisper.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.” His hands resettled on your hips, “Just follow my lead, baby and tell me what you need.” His grip tightened on your hips and then pulled and pushed, making you rock against his clothed erection. Your hands squeezed his shoulders as brief, electric tingles coursed through your body. You could feel your cunt soaking your underwear, the tight friction and heat of your jeans as you grinded your body against his. You panted, pressing your forehead against his, needy little whimpers escaping your throat.

Clyde, still holding you, flipped you sideways and onto your back on the couch. He pressed down, rubbing, and rocking against you, and your hands flailed against the cushions – grasping at loose blankets for something to cling to.

“Clyde, _please_.” You gasped, feeling his mouth skate down your neck and his teeth pull down the top of your shirt. There was nothing but sweet, blissful agony as his mouth closed around your nipple and sucked hard. Your hips canted up against his.

“Can I touch you?” He asked before swirling his tongue around the tightened, hard bud of your nipple.

“Y-yes. God. Yes. Please.” You would do anything to _feel_ him. If he asked you to jump off the roof into the snowbanks next to his house – you’d do it. The sound of your pants unzipping is music – sweet, longing music, and the rough calloused mound of his hand covered you. Your mind goes blank. Clyde pushed your underwear to the side, “Fuck.” He cursed as his finger slid without resistance into your wet heat.

“Oh, fuck, please fuck me. Please. Please. God. Clyde.” You toss your head back, neck arching, spine arching – your cunt throbbing around his finger. Your hips thrust into his hand, frenzied, and rushed, eager to find that sweet spot and chase it to oblivion.

“Not yet, sweetheart.” Clyde took his time, pumping his finger into you, the slick sound of it echoing inside your head. His mouth lazily kissed a trail upward from your chest to your neck before finding your mouth and letting you moan into him. His other hand snaked between your bodies to massage your breast, squeezing, and kneading the flesh, before pinching your nipple between his fingers. Each movement is deliberate. Calculated. His second finger impaled you and you groan at the delicious stretch. It’s not as much as _him_. You want it to be him, so badly, but you wait. You bite your lip, and you wait because Clyde has never been a man to rush things.

“That’s it,” He crooned, voice tight, “Keep goin’ baby.” His tongue licked the side of your neck, “Can I taste you?”

“Y-yes.” You sputtered, “please, yes.”

You nearly sob with relief as you feel his lips close around your clit. His prosthetic arm pinned down over your stomach, holding you still, as the hot, slick of his tongue swirled around your clit. You thought of nothing else. Nothing else matter beyond the pressure of his mouth, the strokes of his tongue, the steady thrust of his fingers inside of you – your head strained back into the couch pillow. Your body coiled, hot and tight, and it doesn’t take long before your orgasm hits you. Your thighs trembled around his hand and your fingers fist into his hair, pinning his mouth to you, as you cry out.

“Clyde.” You whined as he pulled away and there’s the sound of his zipper coming down and your brain nearly short-circuits with anticipation. Your body is still fizzled and numb from the aftershocks of your orgasm, but you instinctively widen your legs and lick your lips.

There’s a moment of pause. You looked up to find him staring down at you. His cock held in his hand, swollen and hard, his other hand placed on the side of the couch to brace himself. There’s something in his expression. His brows are furrowed. His chest swelled with heavy, panting breaths.

You sat up onto your elbows, “You okay?”

He licked his lips, a beat passed and then the words: “I’m nervous.”

“Hey,” You reached out and touched his arm, “It’s _our_ pace, remember? If you want to stop, we stop. If you want…” Your eyes darted down to him; your inner walls pulsed as desire flickered through you again. “Something else. Say the word.”

Clyde pulled back, set his jaw, “I want you in the bed.”

You climbed off the couch, taking Clyde’s hands in yours, and you didn’t even cross the threshold of his bedroom before his hands were on you. You gasped as he jerked your body back, pinning you to his chest, his lips on your neck, one hand between your thighs – stroking you. He held you, trapped against him, his mouth sucking a harsh bruise onto the side of your neck. “I don’t want – “ He laved his tongue over the spot, “You to ever forget _this_.”

“Oh, Clyde,” You squirmed against him, his cock pressing against your lower back, “Trust me when I say that I won’t.”

He huffed, a short, soft laugh against your skin. “Good.” He paused for a moment, “Me either.”

He guided you to the edge of the bed and pushed you onto it – stomach first. You inhaled deeply. Your hands curled into the sheets as you felt his mouth pepper kisses down your spine to the curve of your ass. You let him manhandle you, propping your knees up onto the bed, so you were lying with your face on the mattress but your bottom in the air. His mouth descended upon your core once more, tongue slipping between your folds, and your knees buckled. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as you rocked against him, letting him feast on you, his tongue thrusting into your cunt as his hands kept you spread for him.

You gasped, rocking back and forth, the soft sheets rubbing against your nipples in a way that sent shocks of pleasure down your spine. Clyde’s tongue and lips worked over you, sucking and licking, until your legs were trembling, and you couldn’t keep yourself upright any longer. The second washed over you, leaving you with pinpricks of tears in your eyes, and your body limp against the sheets.

“Roll over.” Clyde said, nudging you.

“Can’t.” Came your muffled reply as your face was buried into the blankets.

He sighed, holding your hips, and then spinning you so you were flat on your back. You smiled up at him.

“Did I tire you out already, sweetheart?” He teased as he climbed between your legs, the head of his cock pressing against your swollen entrance.

“Give me a break,” You gasped, hips tilting toward his, “It’s been a while.”

Clyde just chuckled, sliding the head of his cock between your wet folds, and you grabbed his shoulders for support as he pushed inside – slowly – inch by agonizing inch. Your walls stretched, pulsing, and fluttering around him, and you had a fleeting moment to consider how _thoughtful_ it was of him to give you two orgasms before you had sex for the first time in months.

You watched with wonder, with adoration and love filling up your heart, as Clyde slid into you. He bottomed out and you groaned in unison. It was pure, unfiltered bliss. Clyde leaned down onto his elbows, kissing you, and you let yourself fall into every second of it.

_You_ were really here. _He_ was really here. You were _together_ – despite the odds – and you were so incredibly happy. It’s slow, at first, each thrust is a step towards building something together. You rocked your hips in time with his. Your cheek pressed against his, feeling the stubble scratch your skin, and you sighed wistfully, looping your arms around his neck, and keeping him as close as possible.

Clyde muttered your name and tilted his head back to look into your eyes.

“I love you.” He said, those dark, soulful, eyes making your breath stop. Those eyes had caught your attention his file. They caught your attention when you first met at his bar. They ensnared you. A beautiful sight that you gladly would drown in.

“Clyde,” You nuzzled your nose against his, “I love you. I love you _so_ much.”

His smile was so wide – showing off his crooked teeth and crinkling the corners of his dark eyes. Your heart doubled in size. You stretched your neck upward to kiss him and tried to pour every ounce of that love into the kiss. Clyde sighed and shuddered, his hips never changing their slow, delicious pace. You melt into the kiss, into the mattress, into the moment of here – now – with _him_.

His hands large hands cradled your face, “I’m not gonna last much longer.” He admitted, his voice soft and caressing your skin. You squeezed your inner walls in response and Clyde moaned, “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” His mouth lowered to yours, tongue delving between your lips, and it’s only a few more deep, slow thrusts until Clyde gasped. His hips snapped against yours, every inch of him filing you, as he comes.

You brushed the sweaty strands of hair off his face, watching him return to himself, his eyes blinking and then meeting yours.

“I love you.” You said, just to remind him.

“I love you too.” He kissed your forehead.

XXX

The morning came with birds chirping and Clyde’s hand between your legs. He slid in from behind you, your bodies spooning side to side, the angle hitting deep in your core. He murmured ‘I love yous’ between every other thrust with his face pressed into your shoulder blade.

Afterward, you fell back asleep with your head on his chest and his hand threading through your hair.

The early afternoon sun peaked through the blinds and you walked on wobbly, sore legs to the shower. You were half-way finished with washing your hair when Clyde joined you and offered to finish washing the suds free. You tilted your head back, letting his fingers work through the shampoo, and laughing when he would sneakily pinch your bottom or squeeze your breast.

Once you were both clean, you wrapped your arms around his middle, and just held him. The shower steam curled around you and fogged up the glass. You felt his chin rest against the top of your head as he returned the embrace. You shut your eyes. You could wake up every morning like this.

You covered yourself in one of his bathrobes. It was entirely too big, and you had to roll the sleeves up to even _use_ your hands. But it smelled like him and was soft against your skin.

He passed you a mug of coffee as you entered the kitchen.

“Mellie texted me, said she’d be having a New Years Bash, I’m expected to wear a suit.”

You perched your hip against the counter, raising an eyebrow, “You have a suit?”

Clyde smiled, leaning down to reach into the fridge and collecting vegetables from the crisper, “I own a few, yes.” He cut a glance over to you, “Do you own a black dress?”

You grinned over the rim of your cup, “I own a few, yes.”

He set down the ingredients for breakfast, a mischievous gleam in his eyes that sent an electric shock of pleasure and joy through your chest, “You gonna wear something special underneath for me?”

You licked your lips, “Maybe.”

“Then that’ll make wearing a suit worth it.” Clyde said.

“I guess you’ll have to wear the suit and find out.” You teased with a coy smile.

You sat at the table, answering through the text messages that you missed that evening, while Clyde made you breakfast. Madi sent you a few attachments of Adam’s new songs and wanted your thoughts. Mellie texted about the New Year party and explained that your car was at Jimmy’s, with the paperwork for you to sign over to your name. She also sent a few selfies and asked which one should be her new dating profile pic. Clara wanted to know if you wanted to get brunch on Wednesday.

The group chat between the girls had exploded overnight. Sylvia showing pictures of her ring while everyone freaked out with excitement and congratulations and pre-wedding plans and ideas. You snorted at the last few messages that questioned where you were and why you weren’t responding to the chat:

**Mellie: Ya’ll she left with Clyde, she’s not dead ! LOL!**

**Madi: [Eggplant Emoji , Water Drop Emoji]**

**Clara: new Harry Styles album dropped**

**Madi: ?? is that the British one ??**

**Mellie: Clara – queen of conversation sequesters.**

You typed back a quick reply that contained a congratulations for Sylvia, admiration for the ring that Jimmy picked out (though, you had a suspicion that Mellie helped him), and a mention that you were with Clyde, yes, and you were very much not dead.

You set your phone down as Clyde came over with your plates.

“This looks delicious, Clyde, thank you.” He leaned over and kissed the top of your head.

“Anything for you, darlin’.” He said as he took his seat next to you. You settled into a quiet, comfortable conversation as you ate.

“Have you thought about a New Year’s resolution?” You asked, as the topic had returned to Mellie’s upcoming party.

Clyde pushed some food around on his plate with his fork, thinking, “I have.” You sipped your coffee and waited for him to continue. His eyes lifted up and met yours and you saw his throat swallow. Your heart did a strange little flip inside your chest.

“I was hoping…maybe…I could convince my girlfriend to live with me.” He ducked his head, hiding his face from your gaze. The floor dropped out from beneath your feet in the most _wonderful_ way. “I know it’s too soon to talk about it now. But…something to look forward to the future. If that’s something she wants.”

Your hand covered his wrist, “Clyde.” He didn’t look over. “Clyde, look at me.”

After a few seconds, he finally did.

“I’d love to live with you someday.” You squeezed his wrist, feeling his pulse beneath your fingers, “Someday soon.” Your heart hummed beneath your ribcage as joy wrapped around you like sunshine after a rainstorm.

“Yeah?”

You nodded and he smiled at you with so, so much adoration his gaze. Such softness, tenderness, and love – love that you could hear and see and feel.

You intertwined your fingers with his. Elation filled your chest.

You stared out the window. The heavy, grey clouds threatening to spill over with rain or snow. The wind pushed branches aside and stirred up flurries of soft, powered snow into the air. A lone red cardinal hopped along the snowbank, pecking his beak into the ground, before taking flight into the trees.

Inside your mind’s eye – you could already see it. This home filled with photographs of your life. Your clothing hanging in the closet. Your car parked next to his. You could envision your girlfriends around the kitchen island, glasses in hand, as you joked and laughed during girl’s night.

You would have lazy mornings wrapped in Clyde’s arms, quiet breakfasts holding his hand, cozy nights on the couch while Clyde read a book with your feet in his lap, driving down the dirt road after a day of work and turning and seeing this place and knowing it was _yours_.

This town, your friends, Clyde – all of it – coming together like a patchwork quilt. _Home. Home. Home_.

Clyde rubbed his thumb against yours, “What do you want to do today, sweetheart?”

“Let’s just see where the day takes us.”

Clyde hummed in response, “Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, everyone. That's a wrap! 
> 
> THANK YOU ALL, SO MUCH, FOR THE SUPPORT AND LOVE THAT THIS FIC RECIEVED. I mentioned before but writing this was a healing exercise for me. It really was. It was incredibly therapeutic and I am sad to see reader-chan and Clyde go, but know that they'll have a very happy life together <333
> 
> thank you thank you thank you. i cannot say it enough. :)


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